Somewhere in Time
by Static Prose
Summary: (Yaoi) Somewhere in time, there is a circle. Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete. Somewhere in time, love is forever. (Complete)
1. Where there is time, there is tomorrow.

Before I get started on this thing, I have to say a few things:

1) This is my first Trigun fanfic, but I'm not gonna beg for you to read and review.  I'm just going to simply request it.  I try to act as if I need no feedback to keep me going, but it's really nice to know that at least SOMEONE out there likes a story that you're pouring your heart into, and that's what I'm doing.  

2) I'm not really into the Wolfwood/Vash pairing, but this story centers around it… in a rather odd way.

3) I like pineapples, oranges, bananas, and anime.  Care to spare some for a starving artist?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers:  I own a Wolfwood action figure by Koyaido… and the entire series on DVD.  Does that count?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            On this desert planet we live upon, humans have made for themselves a wonderfully respectable existence.  In many places that used to be nothing but harsh, dry desert, the ground has turned to become lush and green.  Each town that I have come to, in my many, many years here now has trees growing along the sides of their streets.  Some of the larger towns have rather great buildings sprouting up, the record height, so far, being twenty stories.  It's a very impressive sight, to walk along in a town like that.  I remember a time when buildings wouldn't dare go higher than two stories, and the ground was nothing but dust.  There's grass, now.  Grass everywhere.  Flowers like to sprout from cracks and crevices in the shade of buildings.

            I suppose all of these rich times people are living in are due to the new development in water-refinery.  We developed a way to actually expand the molecules of water, so that it lasts longer, and there's more of it.  I know it seems like a far-fetched idea.  I mean, who would have thought that the expansion of H20 molecules were possible without changing the liquid form to a vapor in some way?  It took nearly a hundred years for us to get the process right, but we finally succeeded, and now nearly every town has running water and irrigation systems built into the farms that have sprouted up nearby.  It's almost as if every town has it's own geoplant.

            I suppose it seems just as surprising for me to say that Knives was the original creator of this extravagant idea.  He was the one who initially suggested it to me.  He was also the one that lead the experiments, working more closely with humans than I ever thought him capable of.  He truly makes me proud, and he never ceases to amaze me.  I really do love him.  Just when I thought he would never accept my ideals, never even budge an inch in his stubborn ideas that humans were not worthy of living, he actually forced me to aid him in facilitating them.  I, of course, jumped at the opportunity, and was behind him, one hundred percent.

            So, Vash the Stampede, now known in the everyday world as simply, "Vash," is a semi-scientific genius, and is generally accepted by society.  Knives is pretty much right there with me, although, he tends to shy away from the accepting crowds.  He likes to keep his privacy.  We work on the water refinements together, and even help out with maintaining the plants that power the cities.  Knives doesn't enjoy helping out with this as much as I wish him to.  He still believes that people are taking advantage of our brothers and sisters.  I suppose that's to be expected, though.  He's changed so much; I can't expect him to accept all of my ideals.  At least, not in so few years.  I guess I just have to give him time.

            Knives really has become more like a human than I ever thought him capable of.  I took him out drinking last night.  He actually mingled with some people.  He talked to a woman there who was overseeing the upkeep of the plant.  They argued for a while, and I saw Knives give her a few not-so-friendly looks here and there, but overall, he was very amiable.  He kept his crass, hurtful comments to himself and did his best to enjoy his vodka on the rocks and the polite conversation that the night led itself into.  I couldn't stop watching him the whole time.  I was amazed at how friendly he could be to some people.  All of this change in nearly a hundred years' time.  Sometimes I wonder if he's doing it just to please me, or if he really did want to change.  Regardless of his motivations and hidden agendas, I'm just happy to see him like he is.

            We're pretty well known, I guess, and that sometimes causes Knives some problems.  He gets nervous when children come up to him and want to play.  Everyone knows me, and how much I like kids.  I guess they just kind of assume that Knives is the same.  It's almost humorous to watch as his face contorts into some sort of expression bordering on confusion and outright insanity.  He really doesn't know what to do around kids.  I usually save him from the moment and get the kids to leave him alone, often by letting them put me into some sort of odd, twisted, pretzel-like position.  That usually satiates their playful needs until the next day.

            I guess that, all in all, we're happy here.  Knives and I still wander around from town to town, though we take the sand steamer more often now that we have the money.  Creating a generally prosperous planet is bound to pay a man some good money, don't you think?  I like to convince Knives to let me drop by and spend some time with Millie's grandchildren.  She's got thirty-seven of them.  Big families seem to be pretty normal for her family.  Sometimes it's hard to remember all of them by name, but I'm getting better at it, the more I see them.  Meryl's children, on the other hand, are easy to remember.  She's got three of them:  Vash, Knives, and Nicholas.  They're all grown now, and have children of their own, whom I like to see just as much.  I suppose I should say that I'm honored to have one of her sons named after me, but I'm not.  I always considered my name to be something special to me.  No one on this planet, that I know of, ever had that name.  I guess that back then, no one would want to name his or her son after someone like me, the walking disaster area, the localized act of God.  I was, needless to say, fairly upset with Meryl for naming her third son Nicholas.  For some reason, I was even more upset about that than when she had named her first Vash.  I guess that, in a way, I felt that naming him Wolfwood would somehow betray the real man's memory.

            God, now that I think about it, I'm still not over Wolfwood's death.  Sometimes I even get angry at Knives for what happened to him.  Knives still doesn't know just what Nick and I were to each other.  Our friendship went far beyond that of a normal camaraderie.  Sometimes I wish it were more than it really was.  I wish that I had laid claim to the courage, back then, to tell him how I truly felt.  Unfortunately, now I'm forced to talk to a rough, worn gravestone about times long past.  I still cry sometimes, when I go to visit him.  I miss him so much.  What I wouldn't give to see him just once more, carrying that huge gun-loaded cross around on his shoulder and smoking his blunt, crooked cigarettes that used to eat at my nerves sometimes.  I never really liked the smell of cigarettes on him.  I remember everything about him, to this very day.  I remember his smoky, dark-blue eyes that always seemed to be glazed over in thought or recollection, the way the light would shine on his dark hair, or his face.  He seemed to nearly glow when that happened.  God, and his smile.  I can't even get started on that.  He was my best friend, and my only real friend back then.  When I needed someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on about my troubles and the fact that I was ready to throw in the proverbial towel and let my brother have his way with the world, he was there for me.  He saw through my superficial smiles when I didn't even realize that they were not heart-felt.  I guess, all in all, he was the catalyst in my life.  He was the one that really kept me going.  Sure, Meryl and Millie were there with me.  They helped out some, too, but I was always pretty uncomfortable around them.  I couldn't even bring myself to ever use their names, even in thought.  Meryl was always too bossy, and Millie too innocent.  I didn't want to drag them into the shambles that my life had been in.  Wolfwood, though… he could handle himself in any situation.  He always had my back, and I had his.  Looking back on it now, I realize that my respect for him, my fragile friendship, meant more to me than I would ever let on to anyone, including myself.  It meant pent up love and passion and lust, all rolled into a tiny ball and wrapped tightly inside my chest for safekeeping.

            Damn my inhibitions to hell…


	2. Somewhere in time, all sorrows pass to m...

Replies to Reviews:

Sailorspazz:  Uh-hum.  ::grins:: In case you can't tell, this story's gonna be… a long one.  Someone obviously didn't read my introduction at the beginning.  This story is rated NC-17 due to future scenes in future chapters.  When I'm sure that a story will contain something "questionable" in the near future, I like to give the whole thing a pretty high rating.  Anyway, thanks for my first review.  I'll cherish it!  =D

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers:  Trigun=sexy men with big guns.  I don't own any sexy men.  Get the picture?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            "Vash, we'd better hurry if we're going to make the sand steamer,"  Knives' voice calls out to me through the crowd that has gathered around the mammoth ship that is now blocking out the horizon before me.  It's a lot nicer than some of the others we've ridden on, I'll give it that much.  The outside hull of the ship is shining, reflecting the sunlight as it rises behind me, to the east.  It's sometime around 7:15 in the morning.  The steamer's scheduled to leave at 7:30, and here I am, sitting on a bench, worrying over my shoelace that has come untied.  The suitcase I lay claim to sits next to me, shadowing my foot and the grass around it as I bend down to tie the two strings back together.  I can hear the sounds of peoples' voices and see their feet as they walk past me, not paying me any mind.

            It's kind of nice that no one pays me any mind these days.  I look like any normal person on the street, thankfully.  Not the old Vash the Stampede.  Maybe it's due to the fact that I've grown my hair out recently.  I wear it back in a rough ponytail, usually.  I only have one hair tie, though:  a flimsy rubber band that tends to stick to my hair and pull it out when I remove it.  I don't remove it often.

            As I pull on the shoelaces, one in each hand, the one in my right hand decides to snap.  This is not adding sugar to my day.  I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, having to deal with a stomachache first thing from the spicy food Knives and I had dined upon the night before.  My coffee was cold, too.  Knives had gotten up long before me and made coffee.  By the time I was awake enough to recognize reality, the pot was no longer fresh.  I didn't have time to make another one.  So, gritting my teeth firmly and stiffening my upper lip, I decide to let my shoe go untied as I begin a hurried jog to catch up with my brother as he's waiting in line to board the sand steamer.  I nearly trip on it a few times, earning me a few worried glances and light snickers as I continue my jog.  My shoe flops oddly on my foot, almost sliding off with each new step.  I'll probably get a blister clean through my sock.  That would just be the cherry to top of my ice cream sundae of a day.

            I finally catch up to Knives in the meandering semi-attempt at a line and drop my suitcase to the ground.  "My shoelace broke again," I state simply.  I have the worst luck with shoelaces.  This is the third time this week that it's snapped like that.

            "What do you want me to do about it?  Give you mine?"  He casts me a sideways glance and a slight smirk tugs at his lips.  I nearly take him up on the offer.  I know that if I asked, he'd probably let me wear his shoes, just so that I could be more comfortable.

            "No, but I need to get a new pair of laces as soon as we reach Maya.  I can't very well work with my shoe flopping around everywhere I walk."  We're going to a newer town today.  It's small, barely getting started.  The people of that city have been relying on the plant of the nearby municipality for power.  More and more settlements are beginning to sprout up in such ways.  With the utilization of power lines, electricity can go farther than it has in the past.  Something's been malfunctioning in their water refinery, though.  No one there can figure out what's wrong, so Knives suggested we go give them a hand.  Well, his exact words were, "Of course those _humans_ can't figure out what's wrong with it.  It takes someone with intelligence to understand my creation."  I'm sure he'd said that in an endearing manner, though.

            I take a moment to look about at the people around where I'm standing.  They all look so happy.  Everyone looks satisfied these days.  It's been so long since I've heard anyone damn this once hellish planet for making them live upon it.  Every time I'm around other people I'm reminded of all the good I've done.  I'm sure that I've made up for my mistakes in the past, the people I've hurt, by doing the things I do now.  I always wanted to be of assistance to people.  I'm delighted that I finally have that opportunity.  I don't think Knives really cares about it that much.  He doesn't care that he's helping people, nor does he mind that he is.  He's just… doing it.  Regardless of the reasons, I'm glad he is, and I'm glad that I'm involved in the process.

            "The sand steamer for Maya, Augusta, and July is now boarding," I faintly hear over the crowd.  July… it's been rebuilt.  That in itself makes me grin.  I did like that town, before… well, before what happened to it.  It was a pleasant town.  I take the announcement as incentive and pick up my suitcase off the ground, casting an angry glance at my broken shoelace as I do so.  When I stand back up, Knives is holding out something black for me.  I stare at it a moment and realize it's a pair of shoelaces.  There's probably a mile wide smile on my face right now, but I don't care.  I take the shoelaces in my hand and shove them in the pocket of my black slacks.  Knives is smirking at me.  "Be more careful, Vash," he admonishes smoothly before moving ahead with the line that is now boarding the steamer.  I take a step forward and fall, planting my face firmly into the ground and probably ruining the front of my new vest with grass stains.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm cursed, or something.  Things always seem to go wrong for me.

            I get up quickly, shaking away some of the dirt on my clothes and ignoring the curious stares I'm now receiving, and follow Knives up the walkway to the entrance of the sand steamer.  There are a few people standing around, saying their goodbyes to loved ones and family members, and I can't help but wish, if just for a moment, that I had someone to say goodbye to.  It's just my brother and I, though.  Sometimes I get lonely.  I miss the old days, with Meryl, Millie, and, God my heart aches to think about it, but, Wolfwood.  I miss them.

            "Don't go getting sentimental on me, Vash," Knives barks at me, casting a glance over his shoulder as we cross the threshold into the ship, but there is a minor hint of endearment lacing his words, and I discern that he didn't mean to sound as fractious as he did.  I nod resolutely and follow him into the slightly dimmer hallway of the craft.  We have a first class ticket, today.  I can remember, so many years ago, when I traveled on a sand steamer and had a place in steerage, and it was not very comfortable.  Not to mention the fact that we were traveling through the territory of the Bad Lad Gang.  All in all, that experience had not been a good one.  Now, though, it's kind of nice to know that there's a comfortable room with a large bed and nice, plush chairs to sit in waiting for me.

            Knives leads the way, and I follow as I've become accustomed to doing, to our cabin on the top floor of the bulky ship.  He opens the door, and holds it in place for me to enter ahead of him.  I smirk and make my way inside and what a sight!  The whole room is decorated in rich fabrics and comfortable furniture.  The floor is covered with a lovely crème-colored carpet and the walls are a sky blue with a darker teal bordering the ceiling.  The beds are made up with plush comforters, the upside a color similar to the carpet and the underside a deep crimson red.  It looks like silk.  There are two chairs set off in the corner, both of them covered in a flowery print that is very pleasing to the eyes and probably even more pleasing to the body.  Needless to say, I'm very contented with the room.  We may have splurged just a bit to get it, but I believe it was worth it.  I settle my suitcase on the floor at the foot of my bed and clumsily heft my weight onto the mattress, squirming down into the supple fabrics that surround me.

            Knives gives the room a quick once over, looking a bit dissatisfied with the flowery print of the furniture, and lobs his luggage onto the bed near mine.  I grin at him from my location at the foot of the bed.  "Pretty cozy, huh?"  I inquire as my gaze begins to wander from him to the teal trim of the walls and over to the window that is decorated with crème-colored lace curtains.

Knives settles himself back onto the bed, placing one black sleeve-covered arm over his eyes to block out the light coming through the window despite the curtains, and makes a rough sound in his throat.  "I'm going to take a nap," he informs me carelessly.  I don't even bother to complain to him that it's only 7:30 in the morning, and hardly suitable for him to be napping.  He did, after all, get up much earlier than usual and we do have a long day ahead of us.  I decide to make myself scarce for the next few hours and silently leave the room, closing the door behind me.  Perhaps some food would lighten my mood.  I didn't have time for breakfast this morning, much less the cold coffee that had awaited me when I awoke.  My stomach, by this time, has settled down a bit from the previous night's dinner and I believe that a good breakfast may very well help to keep my energy up for the forthcoming day.

The lights of the hallway are dimmer than those of our room, more than likely due to the lack of windows, and it's a bit difficult to see where I'm going, my eyes trying to adjust to the new luminosity.  I know the general layout of the sand steamers by now.  I've been on enough to have memorized the majority of the corridors and hallways that make up the labyrinth of the inner ship.  It's not that difficult to find the dining hall.  I peer into the window of the door, just to make sure that I am, indeed, entering the correct room, and then slide it smoothly on its track.  The dining area in this ship is different than many of the others I've been on.  It's much more spacious, and it has a more welcoming atmosphere.  There is the faint smell of cigarettes and fried chicken in the air and the lights are brighter than the hallway, thank goodness.  There are a few tables set around the open space and a counter in the back set up for ordering and receiving your food.  There are a few people sparsely scattered here and there, most of them talking to one another, and I pay them no mind as I make my way to the counter, where the service girl greets me with a friendly smile.  She takes my order of two donuts, one crème filled, one regular, and an extra large cup of coffee, and delivers them to me quickly, placing everything neatly on a tray.  I smile, pay her the money she's due, and pick up my tray, looking for a place to sit that won't be in anyone's way.

That's when I see him:  A young man, probably around the age of twenty-five, staring out a window to his left, and smoking a cigarette that has reduced itself to nothing more than a trail of ashes perched precariously on the tip of the filter.  His hair is a dark chocolate brown color, the length of it reaching down to his shoulders and tucked behind his ears, and his eyes, though half-lidded and nearly fifteen feet away, are the most familiar, comfortable thing I have seen in all of my existence.  They're a dark, smoky blue and they seem to be glazed over in contemplation.  I nearly drop my tray of donuts and coffee to the floor, but successfully regain my composure, managing only to spill a few drops of my coffee onto the tray itself.  I can imagine how I must look right now.  My hands are shaking, causing the tray they hold to shake, in turn spilling more and more drops of coffee onto its surface, my eyes are wide, my mouth is open, and my legs feel ready to give way underneath me.  I take a few meager steps forward and place my tray on the nearest table, leaning my hands against it as my eyes continue to stare at the young man who has yet to notice my presence, nor my piercing stare.  I force my eyes to look away for an instant, open and close them rapidly, rub at them for a moment, and then return to staring at him.

One thought continues to travel through my mind as I see his hand tilt slightly from the side of his face, allowing the cigarette to meet his lips, then returning it once more to its previous position:  Nicholas D. Wolfwood.  Even the clothes are strikingly similar:  black jacket and pants, white shirt.  I take a moment to calm my nerves, and then look closer.  No, the eyes are darker.  The hair is lighter.  His face looks exactly the same, though.  His eyes, nose, and chin, are all the same.  Though, he has no facial stubble, as Nicholas always did.  His build is the same, however:  tall and thin, but with wide shoulders.

He finally notices me, turning his head slowly and precisely.  His eyes immediately lock onto mine, and I can do nothing more than merely gape at him, my mouth trying to open, trying to say something, but I can't even comprehend what it wants.  "Nicholas!"  I finally sputter out at him, the harshness of forcing my voice out through the lump that has formed in my throat causing me pain.  He does nothing more than raise an eyebrow at me for a moment, lean forward, slide the ashtray seated at the other end of the table nearer, and flick the long vestiges of his burnt-out cigarette into it.  Then he looks up at me again.  I probably look like a complete and utter fool to him right now, not to mention a few of the other passengers who have ceased the consumption of their meals to observe my odd display.

He raises his eyebrow again, casts a glance around the dining area, and motions for the chair in front of him.  I nearly trip on my feet trying to get to it fast enough.  It makes a loud scratching sound on the tile floor as I pull it out, and I practically fling myself into it and lean forward on the table, resting my arms heavily upon it as I try to get as close as I can and study the specimen in front of me.  "Nicholas?"  I squeak, my voice breaking and sounding strange to my own ears.

He reaches forward a bronze-colored, calloused hand, the fingers long, thin and elegant, and I take it immediately.  "Nicholai Dvorak," he states simply, giving my hand a quick shake and then releasing it just as quickly.  I stare strangely at him.  Nicholai?

"Vash…" I finally mumble, probably too softly for him to be able to recognize the quiet word.  For some reason, him telling me his real name totally shattered the illusion I had going that he was Nicholas.  I found myself staring down at the floor, my shoe with the one lace still broken.  Damn.  I forgot to replace it with the new one Knives gave me.

"Vash?  As in, Vash the Stampede?"  Oh, so he did hear me.  I nod numbly, raising my eyes to him once more as he grinds the last of the cigarette out in the ashtray by his elbow.  "You're pretty famous.  Not only for all your work on the water production and the plants, but for your past.  My father used to tell me stories about you that his father used to tell him, and his father before him."  I nod dumbly.  "Vash the Stampede, the sixty-billion double-dollar man."

My mouth is moving again, but no sound is escaping it.  I suddenly find myself to be one of the biggest idiots on earth, and I'm ashamed.  This man is Nicholas.  He has to be.  They are so similar, it's as if the man himself has risen from the grave.  My heart is pounding.  Why is it pounding so hard and fast?  "Did you ever hear stories about Nicholas D. Wolfwood?"  I finally bring myself to ask, realizing that it's probably a stupid question.  Not many people knew Nick, and those who did probably never found anything to tell stories about.  He was a good man, but not as infamous as I was.

The man seems to take a moment to consider this, his eyes tilting upwards to the ceiling and I begin to wonder if he's suddenly found the cobwebs that are likely to reside up there fairly intriguing.  He looks back down and right into my eyes without hesitation.  "Yeah, I heard about him.  You two used to travel together a lot.  I heard that he took a dive in a quick draw contest so that you could win the money to save a family that was in trouble.  He sounded like a really nice guy."

"You look exactly like him," I find myself sputtering to the man I only just met.  He probably thinks me fairly incompetent at the moment.  What else have I got to lose?  "Exactly like him," I repeat, more to myself than to the man.  "It's uncanny.  For a moment, I thought you were him."

"Well," he chuckles half-heartedly, "Who knows?  Maybe I was him in a former life."

My eyes light up and I smile at him like he's just given me the greatest gift on earth.  I can't say that I'm agreeing with him.  I'm a sensible man, and I don't tend to find myself believing in reincarnation and other such nonsensical things, but, then again, Rem was living proof that a person's spirit lives on after their death.  Sometimes, those spirits can even come back in some forms.  I noticed that on the day that Meryl stood up for me, so many years ago, in front of all of those people who would have loved to see me dead.  At that moment, the words she said, and the way she said them, she could have been Rem.  She was Rem, in an odd sense of the words.  She embodied everything that Rem believed in.  It was like having her back, if only for a moment.  Although, I can't say that I was as ecstatic then as I am right now, at this very moment.  I want to leap across the table and hug this man, Nicholai, and strangle him to near death with the grip.  He's already looking at me oddly, though.  If I were to do that, he'd probably never speak to me again.

            Nicholai suddenly lowers his head and a light sigh escapes his parted lips, "Look, I'm sorry I said that.  You two were probably pretty close, and I probably just drug up old memories that were best laid to rest."  He begins to stand from the table, causing the chair to scratch along the tile floor like mine had done.  I struggle to say something, to find the words that will express exactly what I'm feeling at this moment, the fact that I don't want him to leave.  I want him to stay with me.  It's an odd, irrational, unmotivated, selfish wish, but I want it.  I suddenly feel like a child whose favorite toy has been taken away from him.  "I'll be seeing you, Vash the Stampede," he favors me with a last glance and a small smile before turning around and leaving the dining area.  Even his walk is the same; the same fluid steps that form into movements.  It's truly supernatural, and I find myself intently watching the closed door for a long while even after he's left, willing it to open back up and to bring my Nicholas back to me.

            A chair sliding on the floor stirs me from my thoughts suddenly, and I realize that I've been crying.  The table underneath me has a few lone droplets of splattered tears, and there are still a few trails of them on my face.  I reach up and pointedly wipe them from my skin with the back of my hand before standing stiffly and retrieving my neglected coffee and donuts.  I walk even more stiffly, bringing my near-forgotten breakfast items back with me to my tear-stained table.  There really is no use thinking about it anymore.  Nicholas is long since dead.  There is no bringing him back.  Just because someone resembles him to a near picture image does not mean that he is that same man.  Right?  Right.

            Damn… Now my coffee is cold, and the donuts are stale.  My day cannot get any worse.


	3. And so, the End is the Beginning.

Responses to reviews:

Tiamatorin:  Aw, I finally have a fan!  Whee!  ::dances merrily:: Hm… do I own any big guns?  ::grins evilly:: That's for me to know and you to find out, ain't it?  ::cackles insanely:: Yesss…  Thank you for the review.  I feel so alone when no one reviews it.  Especially with all the work I've been putting into it.  ;_; 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers:  Here's the money question:  If I had created Trigun, and I were rich, would I be eating ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday?  Didn't think so.  I don't own 'em.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Well, I suppose there isn't much that can be done about my fusty donuts and tepid coffee, so I get up from the table and leave the room, not even troubling myself to dispose of the aforementioned items.  My mind continues on in a miasma.  A million and one thoughts travel through my synapses as I walk with a heavy step down the corridors I had only just traveled through.  The world almost seems to spin.

            I really don't even know what to make of any of this.  I don't know what I should be thinking, or how I should counter.  My mind is blaring at me to do something, to find him and tell him something, to say words momentous and evocative and so weighty that he can do nothing more than divulge to me that he is, in fact, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, and my make paltry, juvenile dreams of life after death come true.  It sounds illogical, now that I think about it.  Really, there's nothing I can do about this state of affairs.  All I can do is let it go.  I just have to chalk it up to another of my millions of life occurrences and look at it with detachment.  If I get too close to this situation, I may very well be hurt by it.  The inertia of the circumstances is, at this very moment, attempting to fling me forward into some gauche situation that I would have no real escape from.

            This is all too much for me to handle.  My legs are quivering again as I walk, and my belly has resumed its tight constricting and churning.  I'm probably sweating straight through my new dress shirt, too.  After a few more moments of trying to lug myself back to my room on the sand steamer, using the walls to my left and right as support as I propel myself forward, I give up and do the only thing a man of my stature and age can do:  I fall to the floor and cry, right there in the middle of the hallway.  Luckily, there is no one around to see me slither my back down the partition and curl up into an upright fetal position, enfolding my emaciated legs to my chest with my lengthy arms.  Not that I would really care, at this particular moment in time.

            My tears begin to stream forth from my eyes, searing and saline, a few of them making their way to my lips as I let out a diminutive sob that sounds doleful and pitiable even to my own ears.  Memories of Nicholas come flooding back into my consciousness and I find myself lamenting even louder, the resonance of my sobs reverberating and ricocheting through the long, thin corridor that envelopes me.  Then, through the hazy sound of my heartbeat in my ears and the echo of each moan, I begin to hear footsteps, light and wary, traveling in my direction.  I pointedly place my hand flat against my forehead, which is beginning to ache with my exhaustion, and then wipe my eyes with my fingertips, taking a deep, trembling gasp and mentally chastising my weak nature.  I don't dare to stand, though.  I fail to believe that I could truly assemble the force or willpower to do so at this moment in time.  The footsteps stop nearby, and I cast a meager glance at the one laying claim to the noisy shoes.  Nicholai stares back at me, his eyebrows raised and his head tilted in a look of complete and total worry and concern.  "I thought I heard someone crying.  Vash, are you okay?"  He takes a few swift steps forward and kneels beside me, his hand instantaneously resting upon my shoulder to console and support.

            I do nothing more than shake my head, and, faced with this man who reminds me so much of Nicholas it causes a nearly insufferable pain, I begin to weep again.  He's instantly in front of me, both hands gripping my shoulders a bit too firmly to be comfortable, but still benign, in a way.  I look up at him through red-rimmed eyes and a tear-stained face.  I probably look like a complete fool; a man nearly five-hundred years of age crying like a small child, curled up in a ball in the middle of a dimly lit corridor on a sand steamer.  And for what?  Because I met someone who looks like a friend long since dead.

            "Vash, what happened to you?"

            I roughly shake my head, trying to be kind, yet unyielding.  I do not desire his help, nor do I wish for his pity.  "I'm fine, Nicholai," I say resolutely, swallowing heavily past the protuberance in my throat.  He gives me a fleeting look that resembles uncertainty and acceptance all at once, and stands, offering me his hand once more to assist me in doing the same.  I receive it and heft myself to my feet, looking everywhere but at his face as I wipe the tears from my cheeks and attempt to regain control of my breathing.

            "I'll walk you back to your room," he says, the expression sounding more like a demand than a proposal.  I nod and begin to walk again, his shoulder almost pressing against mine in the taut, restricted breadth of the corridor.  My legs are still shaking.

            "Vash?"  His voice shocks then, having come so suddenly, and I can congregate nothing more than a small grunt in response to his questioning intonation, my voice sounding rough and feeling choked owing to the tears that still threaten to shed themselves.  "I never would have imagined that a famous former outlaw like you would break down into tears in the middle of a dark hallway on a sand steamer."

            Obviously the legends about me have failed to incorporate the actuality that I'm an appalling crybaby and a sniveling wimp.  I'm too sensitive for my own good, I suppose.  Not many inhabitants of this planet, even back when I was still an outlaw, could believe that I was the authentic Vash the Stampede when I'd emerge and start performing my, "Love and Peace," act and endeavor to save other peoples' lives, even if it put my own in peril.  Not to mention all those times I would squeal like a little girl and scamper away, rather than exchange blows.  I expect a lot of people had the notion that I was a wimp, back then.  Truth be told, though, I was doing it for their own good.  I didn't want to harm people, and God knows I was capable of it.  I ruined whole townships and put that vast hole in the moon that continues there to this very day.  

"I suppose I just needed to cry," I answer lamely, realizing as the words spill forth that it is an absolute fabrication.  I by no means suddenly undergo the imperative need to explode into tears.  I don't shed tears lacking reason.  I can't quite comprehend, now, precisely what it was that I was crying about, but I do recognize that it has something to do with the man walking in close proximity to me, giving me a bizarre, yet considerate look.  Nicholas probably would be turning over in his grave right now, laughing at me, were he to see me like this.

I close my eyes firmly.  God, I thought about him yet again.  I must cease doing that.  Every time I do, I get maudlin and specious and instigate my sniveling again.  It is quite an unsightly tendency of mine, quite an irritation.

"Vash, no one just breaks down crying like that.  Was it something I said to you?  Something I did?"  I cast a feeble glimpse in his direction, smiling despondently at the ridiculousness of the situation.  Of course it was nothing he said or did.  It was everything about him.  The way he saunters, the character of his voice, a more featherlike murmur than Nick's but still coarse and jagged and wholly masculine, and his very quintessence and impression seemed to be reminiscent of the man that has preoccupied my waking dreams for so very long now.  "The way you were crying… it sounded like someone was ripping your heart out," he whispers, his eyebrows melding themselves together in consideration and incomprehension.  He, himself, looks equally as pained as I, his eyes damp with more than the customary amount of the saline liquid that glazes them.

            Needless to say, I am taken aback by this and I slow my stride a considerable amount.  He is forced to do the same, seeing as how he has no awareness as to where my room is.  He lifts his head slightly from gazing downwards at the floor as he walks and looks at me through half-lidded irises covered with wisps of chocolate hair.  His eyes are honey towards me, sweet and tangy all at once, the look encompassing every emotion that he could possibly feel at this moment: anything from disgust to complete understanding.  He is questioning me, staring right into my soul, trying to find out just what could possibly be on my mind, what could bring me to such harsh tears.

            I forcibly evade his stare, my eyes returning once more to the still-broken shoelace, the longer one clacking against the floor as I take each slow, deliberate step.  Tension saturates the air like a rag soaking up water and the time lengthens itself, minutes turning into hours.  I hear the shuffling of clothing, the faint whisper of fabric against fabric, and feel a hand once again rest against my shoulder.  If I close my eyes tight, I know I will picture Nicholas there, his hand on me, comforting, reassuring.

            I finally give in, my resolve fluttering to the ground around me like a falling house of cards.  "I was crying because you reminded me so much of him… that it hurt."

            His hand jerks away from my shoulder as if I'd just bitten him, and I continue to walk at the same pace.  His footfalls no longer sounding, I discern that he has ceased his stride, probably gazing at my withdrawing form.  After a moment, they continue, and he is again at my side.  "I didn't realize…" He seems to fumble for his words a moment, his gaze turning skyward as he gropes in his jacket for a cigarette.  The small, blunt objects rest against his inner pocket at the left side of his chest, just like Nicholas' used to.  He rests one between his lips, seeming to gnaw on it a bit in thought.  "I didn't realize I reminded you of him that much.  I didn't mean to…"

            I bring him to a halt before he can even instigate an awkward act of contrition with a quick look that cautions him not to persist further, my stride befalling an immediate halt.  It lasts a meager second as I gaze into the foggy blue eyes, and I feel myself relax under the credence of his shocked, intent look.  "Don't apologize.  It's not you, Nicholai.  It's not your fault."  I suddenly feel myself build up a bit of courage as I take a step forward and continue down the hallway.  "Nicholas and I… we were close.  I felt more of a connection to him than I ever have with anyone but my brother.  When he died, it was as if a part of me died with him.  I know it sounds typically cliché, but that's truly what it felt like.  Then, when I saw you, sitting at that table, for a moment, it was as if that piece of myself had been given back.  It's not your fault that you look like him, so don't blame yourself for the odd way I'm acting."

            I finally reach the entry to my room, resting my hand upon the cold knob jutting out from the door and staring at the blemishing scar that blights my flesh.  Nicholas was one of the only people that has observed my marred, dilapidated body, and not given me a look of total repugnance or apprehension.  Meryl and Millie… when they first saw me, caught standing in my room in nothing more than a pair of baggy sweatpants with a towel perched around my neck… I recall the looks they gave me, as if I were some sort of distorted monster.  Nicholas never did that.  When he first saw me, his eyes never flinched; his words never hesitated, and he seemed totally unaffected by my appearance, as if it were the most innate thing in the world.  I presume he had anticipated someone who had lived the kind of life I had to be a bit tattered and wrecked.  Even so, that lack of response was strangely comforting to me, back then.  "Maybe I just need to rest."

            I hear fabric against fabric once again, assuming that he's shifting his weight nervously despite himself, and I turn to face him.  "It was nice meeting you, Nicholai," I state, offering my hand.  He seizes it timidly and gives me a minute smile that speaks volumes, and I know that he has not condemned me for my peculiar actions and that he understands what I must be going through.

            "You too, Vash the Stampede."

            I nod and again turn to my door, opening it silently for fear of waking Knives from his sleep.  Unfortunately, my actions were futile, seeing as how my brother is previously awake, relaxing lazily in one of the flowery chairs, his face resting against his fist, elbow on the table, as he fingers the top of a small glass containing some sort of red-tinted liquid.  He immediately raises his glance to me and, seeing Nicholai beginning the walk away behind my room, rises to his feet, his brusque voice marring the pristine silence of the moment.  "I didn't know you would be bringing company," he accuses, leaning against the table and narrowing his brows to glare at the man's retreating form.  Nicholai scuffs his feet on the floor, stopping himself, and turns back around, glancing through the open doorway that I swiftly tread through and engage my place at my brother's side.  Nicholai waves at Knives nervously through the still open doorway.

            "Knives, this is Nicholai.  Nicholai, this is my brother, Knives."

            An odd silence encompasses the room for a moment, neither of them daring to speak.  I smile ineptly and spare a glance back and forth between the two.  Knives doesn't seem to find this new person very pleasing to his tastes.

            Nicholai finally speaks, clearing his throat uncertainly before doing so.  "You two look very much alike," he states plainly.  It's obvious and dry, but true.  Knives' hair is much shorter than mine, and a bit darker, but I suppose we still look the same.

            Knives straightens himself from leaning against the table, his eyes seeming to covet engraving holes in Nicholai's skull.  "And you look very much like Wolfwood," he states in an accusatory tone, then favors me with a glance.  "Vash… I thought you were over that demented priest."

            A brusque twinge immediately radiates from my chest at his callous words and I swallow harshly, making an anomalous gulping noise that permeates the silence.  My eyebrows crease themselves together and I give Nicholai a feeble, desultory look.  He returns the expression, knowing all too well that the words have upset me.  "That's not nice, Knives," I admonish, my words falling short of the consternation I had hoped to produce.

            Knives smirks at me, his eyes turning vinegar:  acidic and bitter, and I know that he's toying with me again.  The only difference this time, though, is the fact that it is Nicholas' memory that he's amusing himself with.  A bolt of anger temporarily dulls my vision, my heartbeat becoming the only thing I can see as the blood pulses through my veins.  Nicholai, still waiting awkwardly near the door, shuffles his feet, completely ill at ease, and I use the sound of his footfalls to bring myself back to reality.  I take a deep breath and soften the glare towards Knives to something reminiscent of sympathy, and walk back to Nicholai.  One side of his mouth twitches upwards anxiously, probably a hint of him understanding my situation.  "Knives is usually in a bad mood when he first wakes up.  Sorry."

            He nods at me and takes a step back, then stops, seeming to consider something a moment.  "If we ever run into each other again, I'd like to hear more about this Wolfwood character that's got your panties in a bunch."

            I laugh outright at that and he embarks upon his journey down the corridor. I gaze at him as he leaves, peeking my head forward to see his form fading out in the dim hallway, and I can't help but smile to myself.  Meryl's words suddenly come into my consciousness.  "The world is full of meetings and partings… and reunions."  The smile on my face turns to one of sadness, and then disappears completely as I turn back to Knives, who has resumed his place in the blossom-covered chair.

            "I didn't know you wore panties, Vash," he teases me, once again fingering the glass set upon the wooden table.

            "I don't," I spit at him forcefully, then stomp over to my bed and curl up on the soft mattress, facing away from him.  Knives may be my only brother, but he's a poor substitute for a good friend.  Sometimes I wish I could wash my hands of him altogether; tell him to get lost, stop picking on me, leave me alone, anything.  But, in the end, I say nothing and take it like as much of a man as I am, and he remains my brother, through and through.

            "Regardless of everything Wolfwood did to you, regardless of the fact that he was one of my men, you still cared about him."  I grunt in response and put a pillow over my head.  Stale, juvenile, and silly, but it seems to get the message through most of the time.  Knives doesn't seem ready to back down from his playtime, though, and he continues to berate me.  "You know that he didn't give a damn about you.  He was only around you because I wanted him to be."

            I curl up tighter, my chest constricting.

            "If I had told him to leave, he would have."

            I stifle a low growl in my throat, biting back the words that crave to surge from my lips.

            I suddenly feel a weight settle down on the bed behind me and the pillow is jerked away from my turned head to reveal Knives hovering over me like some sort of scavenging bird, a malicious smile on his lips.  My glare is the only reaction I will favor him with as I maintain to figurative biting of my tongue in restraint of anger.

            "Vash, you let him get to you too much," he seethes, baring his teeth at me, nearly hissing the words.  My bottom lip quivers a moment.  Rather from anger of sadness, I myself am unsure.  He sits back on the bed, his eyebrows raised in apparent realization of some fact that has eluded him.  "Don't tell me you two fucked each other, Vash," he suddenly exclaims, his voice edged with the spice of near laughter.

            I stop thinking.

            I widen my eyes in recognition of what I've just done when I see my brother sprawled out on the floor, his nose trickling a small amount of blood onto the crème carpet and his eyes lightly shut.  There are cuts upon his left and right cheeks that seem to be swelling already, and I'm sitting atop his hips, my hands clenched into fists that have a light red tinge.  I stare at them dumbly, then look back down at Knives, trying to piece together what has happened.  I cast a glance back at my hands, and then back to Knives, lying motionless underneath me.

            The world spins for one short moment as I suddenly leap to my feet.  Once again, I do one of the solitary things that a man of my distinction and maturity can do:  I scream like a little girl and run out of the room.

A/N:  

The names: 

Where did I get Nicholai's name?  Well, the name, "Nicholas," comes from the Greek language and means "Victorious people." Nicholai means the same thing.  Yes, I know it's a bit childish naming him practically the same thing, but… I'm just a childish person.  So nya!  His last name, Dvorak, is taken from the famous composer, Antonin Dvorak.  If you wanna know more about him, here's a place you can go:  http://www.hnh.com/composer/dvorak.htm

The music:

Yes, I have a soundtrack to this story.  I decided to set it to classical, instrumental, slightly lamenting music.  Here is a short list of a few of the songs I listen to while writing it:

Somewhere in Time – John Barry 

(The theme song.  I suggest you download it somewhere and listen to it to set the mood.)

New world – Dvorak 

(GREAT song.  Maybe this one should have been the theme.)

Romance in F minor, Op 11 – Dvorak 

(Mmm… violin.)

Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini – Rachmaninoff 

(Such a sweet melody.)

Moonlight Sonata – Beethoven 

(If it's Beethoven, it's usually depressing.)

Fur Elise – Beethoven 

(The MacDaddy of the soundtrack.)

Pavne – Faure 

(It's just there.)

Sawyer Brown – All These Years 

(A fairly melancholy, but wonderful, song, though a bit out of place.)


	4. Somewhere in time, we are as we're meant...

Responses to reviews:

Katsa5:  =3 Professional… ::gets all warm and gooey inside::  How I wish I were a professional.  That is my dream job, really.  However, I'll be joining up with the Marines sometime in the future.  There is no place for artists in the armed forces.  -_-  Oh, and, yes, Beethoven rocks da house, yo!  He's the biznitch to my shiznitch.  VERY glad that you're enjoying the story seemingly as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

BloodRaevynn:  =B I love Moonlight Sonata…  And your poems!

Fireflower:  Your wish is my command…

I have recently come to the following conclusions:

This story reminds me of my cat.  I love my cat.  It's fluffy and cute and too intelligent for a cat to be.  That's what I think of this story.  It's a bit too high on the vocabulary.  I used too many "big words" to write it.  I asked my mother to read it.  She couldn't understand a lot of the words I used.  Words such as, "miasma," and "fusty," or "maudlin," and "specious." I really am quite perplexed as to what I should do about this.  Should I give up my artistic balance of vocabulary intelligence to lengthy description, or should I go on with what I'm doing, possibly earning myself a few characteristic "odd looks," and stumped faces?

Staying up for exactly eighteen and a half hours on only five hours of sleep puts me in my artistic prime.  Needless to say, I haven't been getting much sleep lately.

I shouldn't write so much so fast.  I now am on the fourth chapter, and I'm on the fourth day of writing it.  I didn't plan it out, I have no idea what to do next, and I've been listening to the same voiceless instrumentals for so long I feel as if I could sit down at a piano and play them all by ear.  That, or stand up and proudly sing, "American Pie," all the way through without having to stop and think about it.

Dry, canned tuna fish is no substitute for a real dinner, and it gives me a stomachache.

Stomachache is one word.

I shall now include a joke of the chapter, seeing as how this story has nearly no humor in it, and the humor that is present probably will fail to succeed in anything more than a light smirk by most.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joke of the Chapter:

Q:  What did the maxi pad say to the fart?

A:  You're the wind beneath my wings.

Ha ha ha.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers: What's that, Yatsuhiro-sama?  You're giving me the rights to Trigun?  You're too kind.  ::pinches self::  In my dreams, I'm sure.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            After successfully fleeing from my room, and Knives' comatose body, I realize I have nowhere to run to, and that there's really no point in running.  I know I'll have to face him when we get to Maya, which is, by the look of things, not too far off.  From my spot at the front of the sand steamer, perched atop the railing, I can see the city buildings on the horizon, wavering like a mirage due to the heat.  My heart lulls itself to a slow, steadying pace, taking with it my thoughts.  I find myself unable to truly think clearly anymore.  Fleeting, eccentric thoughts drift into my perception, but are quickly cast aside due to their childishness.  Thoughts such as disappearing for a while, hiding out and not having to deal with my brother when he awakes, possibly remaining on the sand steamer until it leaves Maya and heads on to Augusta, or even running and finding Nicholai for no reason at all.  That one right there forces me to raise one blonde eyebrow at my questionable sanity.

            Despite the fact that I believe Nicholai understands my predicament more than he's letting on, he would probably think me even more strange, were I to go and seek him out for help after knowing him only a few hours.  He seems to be a kind and accepting person.  Even the mention, by Knives, of my more than friendly attachment to the former Nicholas D. Wolfwood didn't seem as too much of a shock to him.  However, that still does not grant me the right to go begging at his feet for assistance after beating the proverbial crap out of my mouthy brother.  Quite the contrary, really.  Were I to tell him that I had experienced a bit of a problem controlling my anger, he would more than likely see me as being just the thing that people used to assume I was:  a heartless, cold-blooded murder.  I still don't know where many of the people got that idea.  Everywhere I went, I was as kind as I could be, and I did whatever good I could do, whatever was possible to help others.  All of my actions were futile, back then.  They still believed me to be evil; as evil as my brother was, back then.

            Once again in my life, I'm faced with a force as powerful as the laws of inertia.  Problems still seem to fall into my lap, wherever I go.  Despite how mature I've become, the knowledge I've acquired, and everything else that seems to revolve around becoming older, I still am nothing more than an immature, idiotic child who can do nothing more than stand helpless and dumbfounded as I'm thrust forward into unknown territory with no way of getting things back to the way they used to be.  Meeting Nicholai, then releasing my pent up aggression upon my brother's face threw a proverbial wrench into the gears of my brain.  I really am barren in ideas of what to do next.

The suns are high in the sky now, each of them baring down upon my back and heating up my black shirt to the point that it feels as if I'm wearing a fabric inferno.  Perhaps I should take the heat scorching my back and the slowly growing landscape of the upcoming town as initiative to propel myself back down into the ship and to my room.

I turn from the railing, stepping back down onto the deck and listening to my feet knock a hollow sound in the wood that resonates even over the sound of the ship itself trudging forward through the sand and the engines running at the stern.  My feet attain a life of their own as I meander my body towards the door that leads back down into the ship.  My mind seems to have ceased its thinking, once again, as my hand reaches out and pulls open the heavy metal door, earning me a sharp scratching noise of hinges in dire need of oiling.  I continue forward and, before I know it, I'm back at my room, standing in front of the door apprehensively.  I don't want to open it.  I really don't.

I stare at the closed door a moment, my hand inching upwards for the handle, and then replacing itself at my side in a regular rhythm all its own.  Awkwardly, I raise my hand to my face, clenching it into a fist, and stare at the knuckles that now have a bit of desiccated blood encrusted upon the pastel flesh.  How could I have done that to Knives?  It was one thing to shoot him in the thigh that first time, so many years ago.  To watch his face contort into en expression of confusion and betrayal, it was almost more than I could bear.  I ran from him then, as I did today.  A wave of self-loathing washes over my body, and I shiver at the realization that I truly am a cold-hearted man.  To take up arms against my own brother, to beat him to the point of unconsciousness; I hate myself.

I swipe at my face a moment with the hand, wiping at one of my eyes before it begins to tear up in repentance for my actions.  If I leave now, simply walk away from this door and never face him again, I won't have to deal with the look of hatred, betrayal, and injury that is most likely to face me when he awakes.  That, and I will not have to suffer the pain of him performing the exact same hurtful acts upon my person.  I am such a coward.

In finality, I turn from the door, deciding that facing Knives is not something I'm prepared to do at the moment.  Feeling a strong gust of wind, though, I whirl around and come face to face with a very angry set of blue eyes.  Knives' face is marred with cuts and scrapes and seems to have swollen even more than it was before.  I can already anticipate what I'm going to get from him for doing that, and my previously decided upon cowardly instincts kick into action, forcing me to take a few steps back, pressing myself against the corridor wall behind me.

He thrusts himself forward, reaching out to capture my ponytail as I commence a hurried retreat, narrowly escaping his hand, and sharply turn the nearest corner in an endeavor to liberate myself from him in the darkness of the corridor.  I can hear his footsteps following closely behind as my own attempt a faster velocity fails, earning me nothing more than a temporary loss of breath and a grueling pace for my heart to attempt to maintain.

Knives screams something unintelligible to me as I continue my breakneck pace, turning every corner I come to and not giving a damn that I have no idea where I'm going.  I try to discern if I'm really frightened of my brother, or if I'm running from him for the pure reason of running.  More than likely the former, because he finally catches me, grabbing hold of my rough blonde ponytail and merely stopping, causing my still in motion feet to fly out from underneath my body, and my back to fall harshly upon the ground.  Knives immediately jumps on top of me, straddling my hips and pinning my body down with all of his weight as my feet begin to attempt kicking him off.  It's a juvenile, frightened action, and it earns me the privilege of having him grab the sides of my face with both of his hands.  For one horrified moment, I fear he's going to do something lewd, like kiss me, but that thought is quickly dispelled as he lifts my head from the floor, and then slams the back of it down onto the wood beneath me.  Darkness clouds my vision for the moment, tiny flashes of light sparkling momentarily in the shroud, and then he does it again, with more force.  I cry out in pain, sounding like a small child even to my own ears.  He begins to howl at me, berating me for my previous abnormal actions.  "Vash, you pathetic crybaby wimp!"

The darkness that had once been such a comfortable black suddenly tinges red around the edges, and I'm reminded of blood, the way it leaks into my perception.  Flashes of memory spark at me, reminding me of what I had done to Knives, and I begin to recall my exact actions, how my fists had joined with his face and caused repellent cracking noises.  I give in to the beatings then, knowing throughout that I deserve whatever I get for my hasty, callous actions.

Knives pulls me to my feet, using the collar of my shirt and my long hair that seems to have partially removed itself from the rubber band as leverage, and holds me up in front of him.  My head falls down limply and I stare at his feet, suddenly realizing that I've become exactly what I tried to stop Knives from being, so many years ago.  I hated him without good reason, and I let my hate cloud my judgment, and, in turn, I lashed out at him.  I've become a hypocritical, malicious, worthless person and I deserve the fist that is now connecting with my mouth, sending me spinning into the nearby wall where I dejectedly sink to the floor and begin crying, as I always do when faced with situations such as these.  Nicholas would hate me right now…

"The sand steamer is now arriving at Maya.  Those passengers planning to disembark, please gather your luggage and proceed to the exit on 2C."

The announcement brings a conclusion to Knives' wrath, and I feebly tilt my head upwards to stare at his face with pained eyes that are currently shedding tears.  He glares at me a moment, his mouth twisting into a sneer of pure venomous rage.  "Don't ever hit me again, Vash," he warns bitterly, his voice causing me more emotional pain than the physical aches I am experiencing at present.  My head falls back to my chest, where I stare blankly at the battered, pale wooden floor and the dirt that glazes it.  My hand, placed palm up on the floor between my legs, twitches momentarily as a single drop of blood escapes from somewhere on my face and falls down upon it.  My mind suddenly recognizes that my lip hurts and feels as if it may be swelling.

The sound of Knives' black boots clapping hollowly against the floor informs me that he is leaving me alone to gather the broken shards of my pride and piece myself back together.  I wait until the sound fades off around the corner before finally standing, slowly and deliberately.  My head spins slightly, for unknown reasons, and I grab at the back of it, noticing a few large lumps from my introductions to the floor.

My hair is nearly free from the tie around it, and I decide that replacing it, drawing each strand of hair together and pulling on my scalp, would not be a good idea.  I gingerly remove the rubber band, ensuing caution to prevent further aches upon my cranium, and let my hair fall carelessly around my shoulders.  It's a bit matted, and needs to be brushed, I decide as I run my fingers through the length of the tresses that extend down to an area in the region of my shoulder blades

I hadn't noticed before now, but the engines of the ship have sojourned, bringing it to a halt.  A heavy silence permeates the walls around me, and I can hear my own breath as it escapes past my lips and fills my lungs.  Suddenly, I'm feeling very alone.  Being alone physically does not bother me in the slightest.  Not anymore.  It's the emotional feeling of being alone in the world where no one really comprehends your situation or cares about you.  It makes me feel small and insignificant, and it hurts just to think about all of the people on this planet who have lived their lives to the fullest, who have aged to maturity and raised families and then died happily.  I begin questioning myself, and just why I was not that lucky, then bring my thoughts to an abrupt standstill.  There really is no point in doing that.  There's no point in going on about the fact that I'll probably live for nearly an eternity, and be alone the majority of that time, because I'm not really alone.  Regardless of everything else, I have my brother.  And, regardless of the fact that we seem to fight on far too many occasions, he'll always be with me.

That in mind, I set about returning to my room, fully prepared to offer up a sincere apology to my one and only companion in this world.

After what seems like hours of dragging myself around corners and sliding through hallways, and nearly getting myself lost on more than one occasion, I finally reach my destination, and then stand impotent in front of the door to our room.  Sighing to myself, I resign to the fact that things will never get better unless I take the first step, because Knives never had in the past, and I open the door, readying myself to face another retribution at the hands of my brother.  An empty room, devoid of Knives and his luggage, greets me.  I can't decide, at this moment, whether to rejoice or lament.  I had arrived prepared to express my regret over the previous occurrences, but I had also, at least somewhat, feared an argument.  I suppose that him not remaining in the room for longer than necessary gives me time to think out my act of contrition a bit more thoroughly.  Perhaps more than a simple, "I'm sorry," would earn me his forgiveness.  As I go about retrieving my suitcase from the floor at the foot of my bed and leaving the room, I silently hope to myself that he will offer me words regret, as well, though I seriously doubt it.  The idea of Knives ever seeking forgiveness is almost laughable.

I proceed to the predetermined location on 2C silently, following the yellow line that has been painted on the floor that leads to the exit.  Sunlight greets me up ahead, shining in through the open doors of the sand steamer where people have gathered in a huddle to exit the craft.  Knives is standing in the midst of the group, looking rather incensed due to the slow progression of the line.  I would smile to myself, were I not in fear of walking deliberately walking towards my demise.  I part the crowd a bit, shoving my way through and uttering apologies.  Knives glares at me as I step up beside him.

"Knives, I apologize for the way I reacted back there.  I shouldn't have hit you, no matter how angry I was."

The words fall upon deaf ears as the line begins to move forward and we slowly exit the ship, marching down the causeway.  Once on the ground, I follow Knives, who is dutifully ignoring me as I nip at his heels like a small, chastised puppy.  "Knives, don't be mad at me.  Please.  I said I was sorry.  What more can I do?"  The crowd around us slowly begins to thin itself out as we make our way further into town and away from the sand steamer.  "You hit me too, didn't you?  We're even."  It sounds petty and ridiculous even to my own ears, but it earns me a harsh glance from my brother, who suddenly turns on me and shoves me away from him.

"You don't get it, do you, Vash?  You're an ignominy of our kind, and I'm ashamed to be around you.  Imagine, you falling for some idiotic _human_ priest who would just as soon kill you as look at you.  You're pathetic, Vash.  Do you understand now?"

The words flow into my ears nonstop, echoing hollowly against my perception.  I hear the words he says, I hear them clearly, but I fail to understand what he means, the confusion apparently showing on my face.  Knives seems to scrutinize me for a moment, then, realizing that I have not comprehended what he has said, continues.  "Whatever it was you felt for that pathetic man is over, Vash.  It died the moment he died.  You're constantly hanging on to the corpses of the people around you who have died.  You're never willing to let things go.  It's embarrassing and annoying.  So, either stop being such an infant about your little boyfriend's death, or leave me the fuck alone.  I have better things to do than baby-sit your heart."

He turns from me to leave, and my heart stops beating.  My vision becomes red once more, and I clench my fist tightly at my side.  I try to figure out if I'm angry with him, for saying that, or myself, because it's true.  Unfortunately, I do one of the worst possible things I can do at a moment like that, and quickly come up with a tactless rejoinder to his words.

"You're an asshole, Knives."

Minuscule, banal, and dull, but for the way I'm feeling right now, it's very effective.  Knives, on the other hand, does not find it to his liking, and turns back around.  He stares at me for a moment, and then proceeds to shoot me in the leg.

A/N:  I must apologize for the shortness of this chapter, and the fairly vague descriptions.  I try to get each chapter to somewhere around 3500 words, without all the notes, but I'm suffering from one of those oh-so-annoying "writer's block," moments, so you're gonna have to be satisfied with 500 less than normal.  For some reason, this chapter was the most difficult for me to write so far.  I'm really no good at confrontational scenes.  The words that I write, meaning them to sound hurtful and angered, usually come out flat and dull.  =P Such is life, I suppose.

Does anyone else think that an adult Vash with medium-length, _mussed_ hair is probably one of the sexiest things your imagination can conjure?  =D~~~~~~


	5. Where there is time, there is a circle.

Responses to Reviews:

Xara-Vodka and Donuts:  ::Is in awe, herself:: Xara-sama!  ::bows humbly::  I can't believe you actually reviewed my story.  ::great BIG heart eyes::  I love your writing.  And, yes, this story WILL continue, without a doubt, so no giant goldfishies!  ^_^  I had goldfish once.  Five of them. They died in two days.  ;_;  P.S.  There will be a lemon in this story.  Oh, yes, there will be lemons… =B

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N:  Writer's block still wants to show its ugly, dilapidated head, so do the author a favor, and pardon the crap-assness of this chapter.  I have college my first college class tonight, and I'm a bit nervous.  Not to mention my head feels like its constipated; all bloated and fat and ready to explode, 'cause I can't write.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joke of the Chapter:

Q:  What's the last thing that goes through a bug's mind when it hits the windshield of a car?

A:  Its ass.

Ha ha ha.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers: Based upon the facts that I do not live in Japan, my name is not Yasuhiro Nightow, and I began collecting the anime well after the time that it was made, we can all deduce that I do not own Trigun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Somewhere around me, there is a light.  I cannot fully discern the source of this light.  It's more like an envelopment that becomes me, and who I am.  It comes from the inside out.  Imagine that… a backwards light.  Is it possible for light to travel backwards?  If so, would the light swallow its own trail of itself, and become nothing more than darkness, having never existed?

            I don't think so, but I can't be sure.

            The light that has become myself fades slightly, and I open my eyes, squinting uncontrollably at the darkness that suddenly encompasses my surroundings, like someone has placed a blindfold over my eyes. The darkness, though, permeates my body, making my heart painfully ache with its utter nothingness, and it suddenly feels as if my body and soul are gone from themselves, perhaps separated from one another by the pull of whatever lies to the extent my current location.

            Am I dead?

            No.  I'm breathing.  Dead people don't breathe, and besides, I still have my body.  Looking down, I realize that I am still fully intact, though it is definitely a former manner of myself.  The clothes I had been wearing, the black slacks and vest and navy blue shirt, are gone, and I find myself wearing my red coat, and the black underclothes that had always accompanied it.  I reach a lone hand up to my head, where a dull pain is emanating, and find that my long blonde hair is no more.  The tresses have shortened themselves, and are spiked up into the air.  The scent around me is familiar.  I can taste the dust of the dry desert air.  When I close my eyes, and open them once again, the darkness is gone, and a familiar setting surrounds me.  It is a scene of a barren region, with nothing more than the brightness of the sun to greet me.

            Either I have fallen back in time, or this is a delusion.  Considering that I do not believe time travel is possible, at least in the most relevant of terms, I can deduce that I must be dreaming.  I close my eyes to the harsh sunlight that reflects off of the sand all around me, and when I open them again, I am confident that I am dreaming.  Nicholas is in front of me, smiling one of his crooked grins, an equally crooked cigarette settled comfortably between his lips.  One of his hands moves slowly, and the motion causes a blurred trail of itself to follow behind, as if time itself has slowed.  The hand reaches forward, towards my face, and I can do nothing more than sigh into its expected touch, imagining the slightly roughened, calloused flesh brushing against my own.  The hand stops suddenly, the palm of it open towards my face, and a beam of light so bright that it is nearly harsh on my pupils shoots forth from it.

            I reach out, trying desperately to hold Nicholas' body together as it dissipates in the light like some sort of perverted oil floating upon the ripples of a body of water.  My hands come back empty, and when I close my eyes and then open them again, everything is gone but a light, blinding and yellow, in front of me.

            No, wait, it's not in front of me.  The light is above me, but still in front of me.  If above is in front, then below must be behind.  Left is still left and right is still right, so I must be lying down.

            I take a moment to gather my senses, to try and discern just where I am, who I am, and what I am doing in such a strange place.  Momentarily, I feel as if I am nothing and everything all at once.  It is a very strange, unnerving feeling.  Somehow, I feel as if my body has been taken apart, piece-by-piece, and then put back together in some sort of odd, jumbled unorganized lump.  I blink slowly, and, as if that simple action has granted me my sense of self, and I remember everything that has occurred.

Finally noting my surroundings, I realize that I am in a hospital bed.  There is a faint antiseptic aura to the room that I taste and smell when I breathe.  I'm naked too, feeling totally exposed, even though no one is in the room, and I'm covered with a blanket.  I close my eyes once more, blocking out the light above for a moment and savoring the darkness that it grants me.  A pain is identified, pinpointed in my upper left thigh, and it begins to fade away just as quickly as it had arrived, if it ever did arrive.  When I open my eyes, the light is still there, blinding me.  I stare at it.

            Finally, deciding that I have much more important things to do than to lie in a hospital bed staring at a light on the ceiling, I sit up, the flimsy blanket falling off of my chest to puddle around my waist.  Everything is too familiar about this place, and I almost expect Wolfwood to be hovering at the foot of my bed, and then carelessly toss my silver gun onto the cover enveloping my lap.  I take a moment to look around.  My clothes are on a table adjacent to the cot-like bed I'm occupying, the shirt, pants, and vest folded crisply and stacked in a pile, my gun resting at the height of the mass.

            I remove the blanket from around my legs and tilt my head slightly, studying the bindings that are tightly wrapped around my thigh. There is only the slightest hint of blood seeping through the bandage.  Considering that it does not hurt, and doesn't seem to have bled too much, I am confused as to why I would have lost consciousness.  It feels as if I have been asleep for days.  However, judging by the position of the suns in the sky, I am almost certain that I have been cataleptic for no more than thirty minutes.

            The only thing I can really bring my mind to comprehend is one simple, dull-witted fact:  This sucks.

            Having come to this startling conclusion, I turn my naked body around and settle my feet onto the floor at the side of my bed, earning me a faint plodding sound that resonates in the undersized, nearly bare room.  I reach over to the small table beside me and retrieve my pants carefully, attempting to keep the other pieces of clothing and the gun from falling.  Unfortunately, my head is pounding and I feel dizzy, so the gun falls off the stack and onto the floor, where it fires a lone shot towards the ceiling, causing some of the wood to splinter and flake to the floorboards.  I mentally cringe at the sound it makes, and cover my head with my pants as some of the wood flutters down around me.  That stupid gun is really going to raise the costs of my hospital visit.

            As I sit there with my pants covering my head, staring at the pieces of ceiling that are now at my feet, the door opposite me opens suddenly, and I reflexively attempt to conceal as much of my body as possible with the clothing in my hands.  Nicholai stares at me from the door, wide-eyed and concerned, and the only thing running through my mind now is the question of why he's here.  "Vash, are you okay?  What happened?"

            I stare dumbly, only my groin area covered by the pants.

            He looks around me, notes the ceiling-flecked floor and the gun lying next to my feet, and, more than likely, figures out what happened.  I'm relieved at that because, right now, I don't think I could bring myself to speak in any coherent language.  His mouth is set into an uncharacteristic frown as he takes a few long strides to where I am standing.  His hand then settles on my shoulder, and I half-expect him to jerk it back once he feels the scarred flesh underneath his hand.  He doesn't.  His touch is so soft, and so familiar.  Again, I'm sure that if I were to close my eyes, I could see Nicholas standing in front of me.  I feel like I'm going to cry again.  "You should be laying down," he informs me, and I look towards the floor like a small child who has just been punished.

            His hand, gentle but firm, pushes my shoulder and forces me to lie back onto the mattress, the pants still held in position to cover myself.  I stare up at him, looking into his smoky dark blue eyes, probably with a look of pure infatuation.  He looks back at me, at my eyes.  He ignores my body and my scars and looks at my eyes, the entire aura of himself radiating compassion and understanding that I never thought possible in anyone other than myself.  Right now, at this moment, I don't care about anything else but him.  I don't care that a dull ache has returned to my leg, or that my brother was the one who caused it, or that I should be working on finding out the problems with the water-refinement for Maya, or that the hospital bed is uncomfortable.  All I care about is the fact that even though I'm lying on this bumpy hospital bed, and it is no longer needed, his hand lingers on my shoulder, his body set firmly upon the mattress, slightly hovering above me.  I lick my suddenly dry lips, wondering, due to a moment of pure insanity, what it would be like to kiss him.  I could just reach up, simply lift my hand to his face, and pull his lips to mine.  Too many times have passed in my life when I could have done that.  Too many times I have given up the chance at happiness, fleeting or not.

            Defying all logic and sense of control, I do what my heart tells me to do.  It is a callous, stupid act that I really shouldn't perform, but my mind is running itself in ragged, tired circles around the same objective.  If I don't do what needs to be done at some point in my life, who's to say I will ever get another chance?  With that in mind, I lift my hand weakly, still staring deep into his eyes.  His eyebrows knit themselves together, probably in confusion, as I swallow hard and deep in my throat, willing my hand to move forward, feeling all at once as if I'm taking a leap of faith off a high cliff.

            Finally, my hand reaches his face, only two of my fingers willing to brush themselves against his slightly bronzed skin that is so much darker than my own.  I stare at the contrast a moment, wondering if the difference in skin color represents a barrier of lifestyles that could never be breeched for the two of us.  I hope that I am wrong, for once.  Time seems to slow down as he leans back from me slightly, nearly putting enough distance between us that I can no longer feel his warmth beneath my fingertips.  Then, time stops as his hand removes itself from my shoulder, and, for one horrid moment, I fear that I have done the unforgivable and that for the remainder of his life, this man will hate me.  I let my hand fall limply onto the bed beside me and I look away from him, turning my head as far as it will go so that he can't see the tears that are wanting to fall from my eyes.

            "Vash…"

            His voice sounds choked, a bit uncertain.  Lighter than a whisper, but loud enough to be understood, he annunciates the word so that I know he's trying to get my attention, ready for an explanation of some sort.

            "When I was a kid, I used to have these… dreams."  I nod in response, so that he at least knows that I am listening despite the fact that I still can't bring myself to face him after what I have just done.  "Before I even heard of you, all the stories my father used to tell me, I used to dream about some dorky guy in a red coat with spiky blonde hair."  My eyes widen at that, and I suddenly find myself confused but intrigued.  There is a smile in his voice when he says, "he loved donuts."  I small, sad smile falls upon my features, and I finally turn my face to him.  He is staring down at the floor, his hands entwined in his lap, his thumbs rubbing together nervously.  "I dreamt that I was a man, back then, and that I used to travel with this guy in the red coat, and that we were friends.  Then, when I heard the stories, I realized that I was dreaming what had happened in the past, more than likely."

            All I can do is stare at him.  My mind has frozen itself into a block of ice and my heart as stopped beating.  For some odd reason, I feel as if I'm suffocating.

            "I know, it sounds really stupid.  But, it's true.  I used to dream that I was that guy, Wolfwood.  I dreamt that I was him before I even knew who he was, and I became friends with Vash the Stampede in my dreams."  His face suddenly turns to me, his jaw set firmly and his eyes piercing.  "Regardless of these facts, Vash, I am _not_ Wolfwood."

            My heart flutters, and then sinks in my chest.  I feel as if someone is trying to forcibly remove it.  My lungs are collapsing and I hold my breath, fearing that if I were to attempt to breathe, it would hurt more than the harsh, pained words he is using.  They feel like a proverbial slap to the face, a wake-up call that I've needed for so long now.  Wolfwood _is_ dead.  He isn't coming back.

            "Vash, I've wanted to meet you all of my life, but unless you're willing to recognize me for who I am, and not use me as a replacement for someone you lost, I don't want to be around you.  It hurts too much."

            I have to respond… I have to tell him something… anything.  "I… understand."

            He closes his eyes and shakes his head.  For a moment, I fear that I have said something wrong.  I have a tendency to do that.  "Do you understand, Vash?  Do you know what it's like to be a replacement?  To be second best?  To have someone want to be with you, only because they remind you of someone else?  It makes you feel insignificant and worthless.  I hate feeling that way, Vash.  When you realize that I am who I am, and that it's never going to change, don't be afraid to find me.  I'll be waiting."

            With those words, he lifts himself from my bed and begins to leave the room, his hands in his pockets and his head lowered.  I feel awful.  I feel like an evil, heartless, cruel person who has only been using him.  I've only wanted to be around him because he reminded me of Nick… not because of who he really was.  I've always thought myself to be somewhat compassionate towards other peoples' feelings, but I have totally overlooked his.  He reads me like an open book and, though a bit unnerving, he could tell that Nicholas meant so much to me that I would be willing to disregard the fact that he is someone else completely, and use him as a replacement for my unrequited source of infatuation.  I am just like my brother.  I'm sure of it now.  Knives used Legato like I am using Nicholai.  He forced him to become me, in a way, so that he could have his brother by his side.

            Shit.  I am my brother.  No, I am not going to let that happen.  Not to me.  This is not happening to me.  I have to stop it.  He's leaving the room.  The door is open, and he's stepping out.  "Nicholai!"  My voice sounds desperate and childish, but I don't care.  Not anymore.  It's time for me to stop being a total idiot about everything, and to grow up.  It's now or never.

            He turns around, still holding the door open.  I fumble for words.  Funny, a moment ago I knew exactly what I wanted to say.  Now, faced with his hurt expression and the inevitability of him leaving the room, and leaving me alone, I find myself incapable of speech.  "I… you… the…"

            He stares at me.

            Finally, a sentence forms and spills from my mouth before I can even stop it.  "How did I get here?"

            He releases a short, hindered laugh, his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk that looks too similar to Nick's.  Damn, not again.  It may look like Nick's, but it's not.  Right.  It's Nicholai's smirk.  When I look at it closely, his mouth is a bit smaller, his lips fuller, and his canine teeth more pointed, making him look like he's giving me some sort of fanged smile.  "I brought you here.  I saw your brother shoot you and when he left, I picked you up and carried you here."  I do have a faint memory of someone awkwardly carrying me.  I had been jolted and nearly dropped, and it had not been fun.

            "I said something to him that I shouldn't have said," I inform, shrugging helplessly.  "He has a bit of a temper."

            Nicholai scoffs at me.  "Vash, that guy's nothing more than an emotionally juvenile megalomaniac with a superiority complex."  I stare at him.  He shrugs, crossing his arms and letting the door close itself behind him.  "He's a jerk."

            I smile, shake my head, and then laugh.  For once in my life, I laugh without pure reason, without any restraint, and without any worry, and the feeling gives me a sense of total confidence and purity and release.  I feel lighthearted, like the uncomfortable weight of what has previously transpired between us has been lifted.  Now that I think about it, Nicholas' jokes never really did that.

            As my laughter fades, and silence slowly falls back to the room, only briefly marred by my short, spasmodic chuckles, Nicholai takes a few steps towards me.  I smile at him, my thoughts resume once more, and I am able to say what I had wanted to say, my words serious.  "Nicholai, I'm sorry that I treated you that way.  I don't want you to leave, but I can't promise that it will never happen again.  Just give me some time, and I'll realize reality."

            He nods in affirmation.  "I can do that.  Why don't we go out for some drinks tonight, if your leg is feeling better?  Spend some time together?"

            I grin.  "It's feeling better now!  Let's go!"  I leap from my bed and proudly march towards the door, ready to be given a second chance at everything I've ever wanted.  I've made a million mistakes in my life, and hurt so many people, and caused too much suffering to ever be forgiven.  Fortunately for me, I have found my angel, and he's willing to give me another chance.  He's willing to accept the fact that no one is perfect.  He's willing to accept me for who I am, and everything that being who I am includes.  It's like a dream come true.

            "You'd better put some clothes on first."

            I turn around to see him holding up my pants, then look down, quickly covering myself with my hands when I realize that I am naked.  God, right now, I wish I were dreaming.  I'm so embarrassed.

A/N:  ::faints onto her laptop:: Jeebus Chroist… shoot me now, really.  God, this chapter sucked sour donkey balls.  Eugh… Everyone who's reading it… just…  god… shoot me, PLEASE!!  I am so aggravated with this stupid writer's block, I could rip off my head.  I'm sorry, really.  I couldn't do any better.  I know it sucks.  All I can do is hope that the next chapter actually has some intelligence behind it.  ;_;


	6. Somewhere in time, the circle yearns to ...

Responses to Reviews:

Xara- Thank you!  ^_^  Vash says thank you, too!  ^_^.  I've already sketched out your version of Vash.  Gotta make the typical adjustments, but it's well on its way.  Hehe… if I can get a fic from _you_ for payment, I'll gladly hurry it along.

Just Me – Of course!

BloodRaevynn – I don't have a muse.  O_O  Can someone lend me theirs?

RavenDark – You think Knives is an ass NOW??  Just wait… And I'm glad I could make you laugh.  I thought that part was kinda… stale.  -_-

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N:  I think I got my writing ability back, so here ya go!  ::evil grin::

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joke of the Chapter:

Your mama's so fat, when she sees a bus drive down the street, she yells, "Stop that twinkie!"

(Not really a joke, but I couldn't come up with anything better.)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers: My cat is beginning to look like Mr. Bigglesworth from, "Austin Powers."  He's losing his hair.  I don't have the money to take him to a vet.  o_O  Get the picture?  I don't own Trigun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            After nearly wetting myself due to embarrassment, I finally got my clothing back on.  Nicholai had allowed me some privacy by kindly turning his back, standing in the corner of the room with his nose shoved into the wall.  I'm not normally _that_ embarrassed around other people.  I suppose it's probably due to the fact that I really don't know anything about him.  I don't know where he came from, and naught about his past.  He could have grown up living a sheltered life.  What kind of influence would a man like myself have on a man like him, then?  I mean, I'm a scarred, mutilated freak of nature living, breathing plant that I doubt he even comprehends.  I suppose I'll find out today, when we finally reach the bar that we seem to be taking forever to find.

            I suppose the main reason we're taking so long is the fact that I'm hobbling along at a fairly slow pace, dragging my injured leg behind me and limping like one of those, "pirate," characters that I used to read about in some of the books that Rem had on the Seed ship.  At least I don't have a long, itchy beard and a parrot, whatever that is, squawking in my ear about wanting a saltine.

            I was unable to put my hair back into its normal ponytail, due to the fact that I seem to have misplaced the tie, and it blows around me in an unfelt wind as I think to myself, my leg sending regular spikes of pain through my body.  I realize that I have no idea where my brother is.  I suppose all I can do is hope that he's gone on to the water-refinement factory and started analyzing the problem.  It's really his area of expertise, anyway.  There's nothing he can't do, when it comes to those things.  I would mostly be there for support, and very little help, seeing as how it's difficult for me to walk properly.  Besides, it's about time I got a vacation.  We've been traveling around a lot lately.  I need a hiatus.  He's probably still mad at me, too.  Might even shoot me again.  Yeah, it's best that I just stay away for a while.

            Nicholai finally spots the saloon two buildings down, and I mentally rejoice.  I don't think I could have dragged my leg for much longer a distance.  It's a nice-looking building; mainly wood, with dormer windows and an overhang with pillars for support over the deck.  Looking down at my feet as I walk, I note sadly that this town is lacking in the lush scenery of so many others.  I suppose that, for the fact that it's fairly new, and their water supply has been dwindling lately, they're doing very well for themselves.  Lying between the harsh desert sand, there are sparse patches of grass here and there.  There is one tree, in the very center of the town, where a cobblestone sidewalk has been laid.  It's about fifty feet away, but I can see that it's doing rather nicely, the leaves on its branches a lush green and the trunk of it looking rather healthy.  God, and the source of all of this beauty is my own brother.  It's unbelievable.  I really should give him more credit, and be more understanding towards him.  I know he has a temper.  I shouldn't push it with him.  It's just that sometimes, it's hard not to.  When he comes to me, berating my every action and being a complete and total, to exercise Nicholai's phrase, jerk, it tends to exasperate me, and I become irate myself.  I suppose that, in more ways than one, we are similar.  Not just the way we look, but the way we act.  There's no escaping it.  No matter how hard I try, we are brothers in every sense of the word.

            We finally arrive at our destination.  The wooden porch becomes an annoying hindrance in my step as I attempt to reach my objective of acquiring a heavy alcoholic beverage to numb the pain that is now searing my thigh muscles.   In other words, I trip on the first step and fall on my face, scratching it roughly against the rough planks of wood and the sand that coats them, more than likely acquiring a rather substantial amount of splinters.  Nicholai hauls me to my feet and allows me to get my feet underneath the body that has handed me over to embarrassment.  The traitor…

            He pushes open the swinging double doors, his arm still cupped around my back for support, and helps me to limp inside and to the bar.  I smile at him as he helps me to sit.  Finally, he removes his arm from behind me, sliding his hand lightly over the length of fabric stretched across my back; much more than a friendly gesture, yet not quite intimate.  I close my eyes at the thought, forcing myself to embrace a train of thought much less risqué.  It's not a good idea for me to be thinking that way with an injury.  I could strain myself.

            The bar is clean, and there are only three people here, other than Nicholai and myself.  The tender is behind the counter, cleaning a glass with a small rag.  He quickly comes to us, asking what we need in a voice that sounds just a bit too high for a man of his height.  Shrugging to Nicholai, I inform him that I don't really care what I drink.  I don't.  I've tended to avoid alcohol, these days.  Meryl used to say that people only drink to drown their sorrows, when they have something to forget.  That was truer than she knew back then.  Now, though, I avoid drinking so that I can remember.  I want to remember Wolfwood, and everything he was to me, and I never want to forget.  I haven't had a single drink since his death, scared that if I drown myself in alcohol, I will never awake from the haze of drunkenness, and never care about anything again.  For some reason, though, I'm not scared of that tonight.  I know that, in a way, Nicholas is still with me, and I never could forget him, even if I tried.  Drinking is not a bad thing, as long as I do it in moderation and refuse to allow myself to engage in the activity on a regular basis.  Besides, I'm sure Nicholai won't allow me to get too intoxicated.

            When the bartender returns with our drinks, two shot glasses and a bottle of cheap tequila, I initiate the conversation I had planned to engage in with Nicholai.  "So," I inquire casually, resting my arms upon the polished wooden bar bordering my location, "where are you from?"

            He turns in his seat next to mine, and his knee rests against my outer thigh.  He doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that we are touching, and so, to prevent myself from seeming anxious and uncomfortable, I pretend to ignore it.  I ignore the fact that even his knee is warm through my pant leg…

            "I'm from December," he answers smoothly before filling both of our glasses to the brim, spilling only a slight amount of alcohol on the bar top as the liquid splashes into the bottom of the glass.  I stare at the golden liquid that now looks black against the bar, a piece of memory floating to the surface of my mind.  Nick's church was 300 iles from December.  I smirk bemusedly at that, realizing that far too many things about this man are similar to Nicholas.  It would be amusing, if it weren't so unnerving.  I didn't think reincarnation was ever possible, never believed it.  Even when I realized how similar Meryl was to Rem, I never allowed myself to believe that it was true.  Yet, faced with everything now, I'm nearly forced to believe in it.  I _want_ to believe it.  Even if, by some strange jest of God, Nicholai is Wolfwood's reincarnation, I still refuse to allow that to change my state of mind any more.  I refuse to live in the past and continue to grope in the dark for a hope beyond hope, and a love that was never fulfilled.  Life continues on.  It's time I went with it.  "Ever been there?"

            I nod, looking deep into his eyes, hoping that my gaze gives away more than words ever could, and that he has the uncanny ability to read my thoughts, and know that I have decided not to let anyone or anything disrupt my life again.

            The smile he gives me speaks volumes, telling me that he understands.  More than a friendly smirk, or even an amused smirk of recognition.  It is a smile of pure knowing, total comprehension and appreciation.

            Maybe I'm reading too much into this.

            I turn from him, lifting the shot glass to my lips and smelling the spicy, alcohol-tinged scent of the beverage before tilting my head back, propelling the drink through my throat and almost delighting in the bittersweet, slightly searing aftertaste that follows.  I replenish my glass, making sure to fill it to the maximum capacity.  My leg doesn't hurt as much anymore.

            Before I even bother to take a glance back at him, I swallow the second drink as quickly as the first, ignoring the sounds my stomach creates, more than likely due to the fact that I haven't eaten at all today, and now I'm filling it with a liquid that is nearly forgotten by my digestive tract.  Poor stomach…

            "I grew up with my mother and father.  I have an older brother, but I haven't seen him in years.  He's already gotten married and has his own kids.  My parents used to own a restaurant there.  I never liked their food though; too spicy.  I worked there most of my life, though.  It was nice."

            I finally turn back to him, grinning slightly.  "So, why are you here in Maya?"  it had to be asked, didn't it?  Why would he want to leave his home, if he was happy there?

            Nicholai lowers his head, the chocolate colored bangs that frame his face falling into his eyes that are now closed.  I think I may have said something wrong.  He seems upset.  "I left because my parents… died.  I figured there was no point in my staying in a town that I didn't really like, when I had no job and hardly any money.  After they died, the restaurant got shut down."  He concludes with a shrug and raises his head.

            I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, feeling sorry for him, wanting to give him understanding and comfort.  He shrugs it off, regrettably.  It crushes my pride, but I know that the action wasn't directed towards my offering of sympathy.  It was directed towards the anger at himself that he's attempting to conceal inside.  Unfortunately, it's not very well concealed.  I know he's furious, and I immediately realize that his parents did not die of natural causes.  I don't think I want to know how they died.  I don't want to have to face death any more than I have to.

            "I'm sorry," I say quietly, the words congealing dryly in the smoke-saturated air.  I know that it was meaningless, and it wouldn't matter to him.  It was a trained response, I suppose.  Something that was more required of me, than needed.  He casually tilts his head back and gulps down the tequila before removing a cigarette from his pocket, along with a match.  He scratches the blunt piece of wood against the top of the bar with a trained flick of his wrist, sending a small plume of smoke wafting into the air nearby, then lights his cigarette and puts the spent match into the ashtray.

            "This conversation," he says dryly, "is getting too serious."  I nod, agreeing with him fully.  I didn't come here expecting to draw out the evening into some sort of depressed attempt at frivolous conversation.  I came here to have a good time and learn some more about the man that has my attention at this moment, his lips casually holding the cigarette between his lips, causing it to bob up and down when he says, "Tell me about Wolfwood."

            That took me by surprise, and I let it show on my face, raising my eyebrows and leaning back a bit.  His knee is still touching mine, though.  It's comforting, in a way.  "He was my best friend."  That was probably the dumbest thing I've ever said in my life.  I am such an idiot.

            "Why does your brother give you shit about him?"

            I sink down into my shoulders, not really wanting to answer the embarrassing question.  I almost want to tell him that it's none of his business, but immediately think better of it.  There really is no reason whatsoever to be rude to him.  There's no point in trying to push away one of the only things that I want to be close to right now.  "I guess it's because… he's jealous."  Nicholai leans back in his seat, and his knee finally removes itself from my leg.  "All my brother ever wanted was to be with me.  I'm the only person he's ever had, or cared about.  When I started to become attached to Wolfwood… I guess he got jealous that it wasn't him I was with.  It's a long, sordid story that's too serious for this conversation, so I'll just say that Wolfwood, at that time, was more important to me than anyone else has ever been."  Even Rem, I add silently, and I know that it's true.  Hell, if it were Rem that I loved, in the more physical aspect of the word, rather than simply the emotional, I would have lusted after Meryl so many years ago.  Then again, Meryl was a bossy, commanding bitch.  It's not nice to think that, especially considering that she was my friend back then, too, but she really did nothing but get in my way and hit me every chance she got.  I really did care about her, regardless of all of her flaws, but never the way I cared for Nicholas.  And Millie… I won't even get started on her.  She was one of the sweetest people I've ever known, but the fact that Nicholas might have…No, I won't start down that train of thought.  I've asked Meryl about it, earning me a good lecture and a harsh, suspicious look from the woman, but it also confirmed my suspicions that nothing actually happened.  Although, there's always been the thought nagging in the back of my mind that Millie doesn't seem to be the type to "kiss and tell," as they say.  She may have lied to Meryl.

            "Okay, on to the next subject.  What's your real name?"

            The words drag me back quickly from my train of thought, and I award his efforts with a light chuckle.  "My name is Vash," I answer, raising my eyebrows as if it's the most common fact in the world.

            "That's what you tell everyone.  Is it the truth?  Do you have a last name?"

            I grin, remembering Wolfwood saying words very similar to these.  It makes me feel nostalgic.  "Vash is my real name.  I never really thought about my last name.  I suppose that, since my brother has the last name, 'Millions,' it's mine, as well.  We were never really given full names.  They weren't necessary."

            "That's right…" he draws out, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his chair as if he's suddenly figured out all of the mysteries of the universe.  "You're a plant, right?  You came over here on those ships over five-hundred years ago."

            I nod.  I don't particularly enjoy the fact that almost everyone in this day and age knows the truth about my brother and I.  We're sometimes shied away from publicly.  We're living, breathing, walking, talking, human looking plants that seem like they'll live forever.  I know that's not true.  Plants don't live forever.  I just don't want to think about what it will be like after the plants fail around here.  I don't know how long we'll all live, but I know it won't be forever… and after they're all gone, what's left to power the world?  Will our death lead to the inevitable destruction of the human race?  No, I shouldn't think like that…

            "Can I ask you some questions about plants?"

            I nod, unsure of what he's going to ask, and unsure of whether or not I'll answer the questions.  I drink another shot of tequila, trying to loosen myself up.  "Are you… anatomically correct?"  He raises an eyebrow at me, his mouth set into an uncertain frown, probably trying not to seem perverted, but still curious, despite himself.

            My eyes widen and I nod rapidly, taken aback by his question as much as he was from asking it.  I quickly refill my glass with tequila and down the alcohol.  "So you have a penis, and everything?"

            My head snaps back at that, and I feel my face heat up abnormally.  I'm probably blushing so bad it looks like a sunburn, which is, oddly enough, not possible for plants.  We're immune to the effects of overexposure to sunlight.  "I… yeah.  How else would I pee??"  He chuckles, releasing some of the tension in my shoulders and lifting the uncomfortable air around us.  He takes a long drag on his cigarette, then, and exhales towards the ceiling, making a smoke ring.  The only reason I would ever want to try smoking would be so I could do that.  Regardless of how bad those things are for you, it's still fascinating to watch the circle rise into the air.

            Studying the windows that decorate the wall to my right, I realize that night is beginning to fall.  The sun on the horizon is nothing more than a dark amber yellow, saturating the lower half of the sky; while the upper half is occupied by the early show of the moons that circle the planet, a few of the brighter stars already beginning to sparkle amidst the darkness.  I drink my fourth glass of tequila.  Or is it my fifth?

            Nicholai finally extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray next to me, having smoked every inch of the paper right down to the brown filter.  "What," he finally asks, breeching the silence of the moment, "are you doing in Maya, Vash?"

            I turn away from the windows, back to him, and refill my glass with tequila, my hand shaking a bit more than I would like.  "I'm here with my brother.  We're gonna work on the water… plant… thing."

            He grins, "Yeah, I heard you worked on those things," and drinks another glass to accompany mine.

            My stomach makes a horrid, gruesome gurgling sound as I refill my glass once more, and quickly down the alcohol.  When it reaches my stomach, I feel myself fall over, fully expecting to hit the floor in an embarrassing heap.  Strangely, I'm greeted by warms hands and arms wrapped around my body.  For a moment, I'm completely confused, but when I look up to see Nicholai smiling down at me sympathetically, I realize that instead of falling backwards, I've fallen straight into his arms.  It's like a scene straight out of one of those cheesy romance novels, and I almost expect to hear soft music begin.

            Quite the opposite greets me, however, as I'm shoved back into my seat with a laugh.  "You really can't hold your liquor, Vash!" he informs me, chuckling all the while.  "C'mon!  Time for another round!"  He refills my glass.  I've never been one to back down from a challenge, so I lift it, clink it against his in some odd sort of toast to unknown things, and tilt my head back, nearly vomiting from the pure stench of the alcohol as it makes its harsh run down my throat.  Slamming the glass down onto the bar, I announce that I'm ready for another by reaching for the bottle, managing to knock it over.

            Nicholai, who is obviously a bit more sober than myself, fills the glasses once more while he says something to me that I really don't care to discern at the moment.  For some reason, I just watch as his lips move, not really hearing him.  Then, my vision blurs.  God, I'm drunk.

            "Vash?  Did you hear me?"

            I smile crookedly and shake my head, then lean towards him, slumping my face onto my hand and not caring that it squishes my cheek up to the point that I can't see out of my right eye.  "Whadja say?"

            "I asked where you were staying tonight.  I'm probably going to have to carry you home, after this next one."

            I shrug, not really caring.  I could sleep on the floor of the bar tonight, for all I care.  It really wouldn't make a difference right now.  I grab my glass and tilt my head back.  When I slam it back onto the counter, I let out a small burp and announce that I am, indeed, done for the night by promptly collapsing onto the counter.

            I barely hear a light shuffling and a sigh nearby before I'm lifted off of my seat and slung over someone's shoulders.  Then, darkness covers my line of sight, coming from the outside edges, and I let my head fall limply against something warm and soft.

A/N:  Hmm… a drunken Vash, a slightly intoxicated Nicholai… an tavern with upstairs bedrooms… I wonder where this is gonna lead?  ::grins evilly:: Even I can't wait to see… hehehe…

- I know Meryl didn't really hit Vash all that much, but in the episode when they meet Wolfwood, she must have hit him at least four times.  ::growls::

- I am really unclear as to the nature of plants.  All I really know is that they live a long time and that Vash and Knives are plants.  o_o  Does anyone know how long they live?

- The idea that plants are, "immune to the effects of overexposure to the sunlight," stems from the fact that regardless of how long Vash was outside, wandering in the desert, he remained the palest character of the show.

- The idea that Vash's last name is 'Millions' doesn't seem _too_ odd, does it?


	7. Though you may feel this is all an illus...

Responses to Reviews:

Ack!  x_o  Too… many… reviews…  Not that I'm complaining, though!  I love them!  Thank you, you guys!

BloodRaevynn:  You know… a snide muse might not be too bad, but we might argue a bit.  ^^;;; I'm quite spiteful, myself.

Galford340:  Your wish is my command…

Euce:  Yeah, I tried to make Vash seem so intelligent for a reason.  He may not act it, and he may often come off as being a klutzy dweeb, but he actually _is_ very smart.  ^_^  I was hoping this story would do him justice.  Now, it's just a matter of figuring out how to write the point of view of a drunken person.  ^^;;;

Argent Inluminai: Well, here it is!  Enjoy!

Jackie:  Droolworthily?  Hehe… new word, maybe?  ^_^

Katsa5:  Thanks for your reviews.  I'm glad you're catching up with the story.  I'm not quite sure where knives is, myself.  o_o  So, we're in the same boat, here.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joke of the Chapter:

If you love something, set it free.  If it comes back, it's yours.  If not, it was never meant to be.

But, if it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, eats your food, takes your money, and doesn't appear to realize that you've set it free… you either married it or gave birth to it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers:  Yeah, sure.  I own Trigun.  Yep.  I also love Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, I'm dating Nick Carter from Backstreet Boys, and I wear my underwear on my head in my free time.  Yeah, sure.

In case you can't tell, none of that's true.  Except for maybe the underwear thing, when I'm feeling crazy.  I doubt Hanes Her Way would sue me, though.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I'm vaguely aware of a movement underneath me, possibly the shuffling of someone carrying me.  I guess that's what's happening.  Not that I would really care right now.  I feel like I'm going to be sick, and the fact that my ass is in the air and my head is towards the floor, I think, is really not aiding me in keeping down the alcohol.  Nick always used to tell me that I couldn't handle my drink.  Too bad he was right.  I'm a pathetic excuse for a lush.

            Something suddenly squeaks behind me.  It sounds like hinges, but I can't really be too sure at the moment, considering that my eyes are closed against light that I'm sure is somewhere nearby, and I'm facing away from the squeak.

            Of course, my suspicions are confirmed when I move through the doorway, sense the darkness, and open my eyes to see a door slamming shut behind me after Nicholai kicks it with his heel.  Oh… that's right.  Nicholai's carrying me.  I keep forgetting that.

            His hand finds its way up my leg, resting on my left buttock, and before I can even offer up a faint, more than likely unintelligible, protest, I'm sliding down his body flaccidly.  When my feet hit the floor underneath, my knees buckle and I fall back, thankful that there is a soft, mushy mattress to fall back _into_.  I am not thankful, however, when my head hits the wall next to the bed.  Being tall is really not something I enjoy, most of the time.  Sure, it gives you the advantage of being able to reach things on the top shelf, but it also means that beds tend to be too small, and definitely not wide enough when you fall back onto them from the side.  "Ouchie," I think to myself as I rub at the top of my head.

            "You okay, Vash?"  Nicholai's voice comes from somewhere nearby, but I am unsure as to his exact location, seeing as how it's dark, and my head is throbbing.

            I nod, but knowing fully that he can't exactly see the action in the darkness.  The bed sinks in on the left of me, apparently due to Nicholai settling his weight down on it.  I throw my arm right over my eyes and sigh, my stomach feeling like it's tying itself into tight knots and then releasing them, tying, releasing…

            "Sorry for letting you drink so much," he whispers towards my general direction, and then leans back on the bed, lying down next to me, both of us staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.  I have a feeling that he's nearly as drunk as I am.  There is the slightest hint of slurred speech that accompanies his words.

            "You," I say pointedly, throwing my arm from in front of my eyes and letting it fall onto the bed next to me, "didn't _let_ me do anything.  I did it myself."  That's halfway true, I suppose.  I had hoped that I wouldn't drink enough to actually get intoxicated.  I had also hoped that Nicholai would help me to remain sober.  Then again, remaining sober while in the presence of alcohol has never been one of my stronger attributes.  I guess that's why I've been staying away from it for so long.  When I'm around it, it's as if I can't control myself anymore.  I'm either totally smashed, or totally sober.  There is no in between.  It's a bad habit of mine, going to extremes.

            Then again, the idea that I go to extremes isn't exactly a bad thing.  When I love someone, I love them unconditionally, and to the point that I could care less about the rest of the world.  That in mind, I turn on my side, facing Nicholai, and throw an arm over his chest, curling up to his side.  He smells nice…  Now that I think about it, even my extreme love _can_ be a bad thing.  Caring about nothing but that person would probably get annoying after a while, and I would also neglect the rest of the world.  I don't think I could ever do that, really, but I can't be sure, because it's never happened that the love was returned for me.  I loved Nicholas, but he never loved me back, as far as I know.  Maybe he did, but he didn't show it.  We never made a point to tell each other on a daily basis.  In fact, we never told each other, period.  We were too caught up in the times we lived in, trying our best to survive all the problems that we got ourselves into – correction:  _I_ got us into.

            Either way, those days are over now.  I need to learn to let them go, and realize that right in front of me is a man who is kind and understanding and funny, and he seems to like me, because he has yet to remove my arm from around his chest.  Actually, I think I can feel his hand on my back, the fingers lingering slightly, combing themselves through my hair and tickling the skin underneath my clothes.

            I rest quietly, curled up against his side, noticing, with an amused smirk on my face, that we're breathing at the same rate.  The only sound in the room is our breathing, the slightly heavy sigh of imminent sleep threatening to seep into the inhalations.  The moment is calm and somber, and I feel more relaxed than I have for what seems like an eternity now.  His hand resting against my back is the only thing I really care to feel right now, and I concentrate on the warmth that seeps through my clothing, letting it comfort me like no words ever could.

            I sigh to myself, causing Nicholai to stir next to me.  He slowly sits up, and my arm falls from his chest as he slides to the edge of the bed.  When he removes himself from my grasp, taking with him the warmth of his touch and the saccharine feel of the moment, I sense the ambiance of being lost and alone, like I'm sitting unaided in an extreme, pervasive darkness.  "You okay, Vash?" he whispers to me quietly, the shadows seeming to saturate into his words and make them fall even more gently upon my ears.  He has such a sweet and soothing, yet husky and masculine voice.  Quite a peculiar, yet erotic, mix of musk and honey.

            I curl up tighter into myself, wrapping my right arm about my legs and dipping my head to my chest.  Yet, despite the fact that I feel dejection, I nod slightly and emit a peculiar affirmative hum.  "Why'd you have to move, like that?" I question him, sounding like a small, lost child.  I shouldn't have said that.  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have said that.  I'll blame it on the alcohol in the morning.

            He releases a short, restrained chuckle and stands from the bed.  I hear his steps, his boots clumping hollowly against the floorboards that squeak under his weight.  He stops somewhere in the darkness, and I sit up slightly to attempt to see what he's doing.  I doubt, even if there was a bit of light in here, that I could see what he's doing.  My vision's pretty blurred right now, more than likely do the massive intake of the alcoholic beverage that is cheap tequila.  There's a bit of rustling, a faint fizzing sound, and then I see a light, a flame advance towards his face, lighting the cigarette that is now pinned between his lips.  The radiance cast from the small match seems to glow against his features, and he seems even more yielding than he had before, his cheeks smooth and his eyes mellifluous.  Then, the light is gone, and we're left once more in a permeating darkness, the only light in the room, a small red dot, coming from the tip of his cigarette, and glowing a bit more when he inhales.

            Silence ensues.  A bland, dry feeling comes from my chest due to the fact that I have nothing to say anymore.  Then, as if knowing that I do not enjoy silence, he begins to move once more, walking towards me.  I see the tip of his cigarette move from his lips and settle somewhere low, then swing back and forth slightly as he advances.  No, he's not coming towards me… he's going to the side of the room, to the wall.  There is a faint metallic clicking sound, and I'm greeted by the moonlight, shining in, pale and dim and blue, through the window towards the foot of the bed.  The drapes that had covered it must have been fairly thick to block out all of that light.  He takes off his black coat, folding it and tossing it over a nearby chair, then turns to gaze out the window a moment.

            My eyebrows knit together tightly as I stare at Nicholai in front of the window, bathed in the light that pours in like water.  I'm reminded of, so long ago, when something very similar to this man was seen doing nearly the same thing, standing in the moonlight that melted down onto his face, positioned outside a small cave-like grotto as the insurance girls, Meryl and Millie, slept inside.  I was nearly drunk, then, when we stumbled outside to look up at the stars and discuss where the future would lead our haphazard lives.  Back then, I never would have guessed that Nick would die, and leave me all alone like he did.  It never occurred to me that I would live so much longer, and have to face my haphazard life by myself.  The fact that he was human never occurred to me, and I never thought it important.  Then again, I also never expected to meet his reincarnation.  I suppose that, in a way, I am given a second chance.  It's like we've met again, like we never left each other to begin with.  It feels like the time in between was just a careless dream that really had no meaning, no purpose.

            He slowly moves back to the bed, settling down next to my still whorled form, and placing an arm behind my back to settle on the bed, as well.  I stare at him, and it's all I can do to try and breathe.  It's all I can do to contain the smile that wants to fall upon my features.  He does smile at me, a sideways smirk, pulling only on the left side of his mouth.  The near fog coming from his cigarette wraps itself around me, like his arm.  It envelops my form, curling around my body and then wrapping around his face.  God, I'm drunk.

            He lowers his face to mine, slowly, timidly.  His eyes searching mine for any type of resistance, I do the same, waiting for any sign of hesitation to show through.  Suddenly, I find myself moving forward, my face coming closer to his.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  When I open them, I see the thick lashes that frame his eyes lowering, closing, and he moves closer.  I can hear his breathing, nearly chaotic, more than likely from being nervous, and my heart is pounding against my chest so fully, thickly, that I can hear it as well, in my ears.  For a moment, I worry that perhaps he can hear it, himself.

            Then, gently, his lips meet mine, and I feel a sudden rush surge through my body, like a tidal wave.  I close my eyes, nearly shivering at the force of the inertial kiss, his lips suddenly pressing more fully onto mine, his hand rising from the bed to place itself flatly against my back.  I force my lips so inflexibly onto his that I think I can feel his heartbeat through them, though it may just be my own.

            His mouth opens slightly, the moist lips separating, and I find myself kissing his teeth.  In order to counter him, I open mine as well, pulling back slightly, so that we are now sitting with our mouths open, our lips still feathering against one another, like kissing fish, neither of us daring to do more.  Our breathes mingle each other for one quick moment, both fast paced and filled with what can only be described as passion, and then, I feel his tongue brush itself lightly against my bottom lip.  It feels like a firework has just gone off in my dazed, alcohol-misted mind, like sparks may very well shoot from the top of my head.  I lift up my right arm to wrap it around his neck, and miss, instead grabbing onto the top of his head.  His tongue finally slides into my mouth, touching my own, and I'm greeted with a strange taste melding somewhere between tequila, smoke, musk, and ash, strangely comforting, yet none too pleasant.  He leans forward more, and I reflexively lean back, until I'm flat against the bed, and he's lying next to me, more than likely straining his neck to reach my mouth.  He pulls away for one moment to move further up the bed, closer to me, and I open my eyes.  He smiles down at me, places one hand on my forehead to flow down to rest at the top of my head, and then lowers his mouth once more onto mine.

            His tongue, once more, seeks acceptance into my mouth, and I unreservedly allow it, tasting the odd mixture once more as I close my eyes.  His chest rests against mine as I move my left arm out from under his body, and I feel his heart beating rapid and strong against my own.  My right hand grabs at his shoulder, wanting to pull him as close to my body as possible, wanting, more than anything, to stay like this forever.  I finally remember to breath, inhaling through my nose and never pulling away from the taste of him.  Our breathing becomes erratic, our tongues twining and twisting about each other.  We make strange, sloppy noises in the dark, and a small bit of drool, how attractive, flows down my cheek.  I could care less right now, though.  My hand grips tighter on his shoulder and I pull on his shirt, fumbling to remove it from his body.  It finally pulls free from his pants, and I move my hand down to his waistline, feeling his warm flesh against my own.  His mouth continues to press against mine, and he elicits a small, barely audible sigh.  My fingers dance along the planes of his lower back, tickling the exposed skin tenderly.  The muscles tighten despite themselves, and he wriggles around under my touch.  I smile as his tongue delves into my mouth further, licking along the inside of my bottom lip.  He then nibbles and pulls on it, worrying the tender flesh between his own lips and getting even more saliva on my on my chin.

            I hear a light sizzling sound, and my eyes fly open, my hands and mouth coming to an abrupt stop.  The distinct scent of burning hair greets me, and I sit up rapidly, pushing Nicholai away from me and grabbing at my head.  He stares at me a moment, then sits up rapidly and shakes his hand, mumbling a curse that can only be described as vulgar.  I see a minute red speck go flying across the room and land on the floor.  "You," I shriek, my voice sounding a bit unstable and weak, "still had the cigarette in your hand?"

            He nods mutely and stares at me as my peripatetic fingers begin to feel the slightest bit of dry, burned hair on the top of my head.  It's not much, but it certainly did stink.  "You… burned my hair."  I stare blankly.

            "I… burned my hand."

            Something passes between us, then; a small, shared smile that forms upon both of our features suddenly.  Then, we laugh.  We laugh like I didn't just have my head catch on fire, and he doesn't have a burn on his hand that will probably blister tomorrow, and he reaches forward, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me back to lie next to him.  His face melds into the crook of my neck, breath tickling my ear softly.  "I'm sorry, Vash."

            The weight of his words catches me, and I know immediately that he's not talking about my crispy hair.  He's talking about the kiss, about the fact that he did something like this the first day he met me, about the fact that he did this to me while I was drunk, about the fact that he's started something that he's unsure he can finish; anything but the burned hair.  I turn to him then, sitting on my side and resting my face against my hand.  My right arm goes to his waist, falling lightly in the curvature between chest and hip.  I give him a certain, definite smile, knowing that my next words can either reassure or destroy.  I calmly, steadily say, "Don't be sorry," and lean forward, meeting my lips to his once more in a chaste, persuasive kiss as my eyes close.  I think I can feel him smiling.

            Apparently reassured by my words, his arms wrap around me all over again, and his body finds its way on top of mine, his legs on either side of my hips.  My hands to his back again, pulling at his shirt, I still want it off.  I'm nervous, and my fingers are probably shaking as much as my breathing.  He sits up, taking his lips away from mine, and pulls his shirt off over his head.  I gaze at him, my eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted.  He looks down at me, mirroring my expression, and my hand lifts slowly to rest against the middle of his chest.  His heart beats firm and rapid.  I swallow nervously, and it's so loud in my ears that I'm sure he heard it.  My eyebrows tighten and my lip twitches slightly as I raise my other hand to his chest, shaking slightly.  His skin is warm and soft and much darker than my own.  His muscles are toned and tight under the supple flesh, and I know then that he has not led an uneventful life.  There are the slightest remnants of scars marring his flesh, and I pointedly ignore them, concentrating more on the feel of my hands against his heart.  I move them further away from each other, rubbing over his pectoral muscles and grazing my thumbs lightly against the slightly darker areolas positioned in the center of them.  My hand shakes as it wraps around his ribs to his back, feeling the bones that protrude slightly and the muscles that cover them.

            Never in my life have I touched another man like this.  Never in my life have I touched _anyone_ like this.  I don't care that I met him only today.  I don't care that I'm drunk and I feel so nervous that I could vomit right now.  I trust him.  I trust him more than I've ever trusted anyone.  I trust him with my heart and soul and mind and body.  God, please don't let him hurt me…

            He lowers his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks gently and, as if somehow reading my thoughts, places another kiss against my lips, the underlying details of his tongue against my own telling me that he would never hurt me, that he will never betray my trust.  My own hands again find themselves dancing over the now fully exposed flesh of his back.  His body is fire and ice all at once, the flesh heated and warm, yet shivering as his hands lower themselves down my chest, the fingers drawing lazy circles against my skin through the fabric of my shirt.  I feel them lower to my waist, a few of the long, thin fingers finding their way underneath the line of my pants as the rest of them fumble with the button until it finally comes free.  And then, my ears lightly catch on to the sound, the metallic jingle that fills the air as the zipper of my pants lowers, the teeth parting gently and easily in the dark.  I mumble incoherently into the air, not bothering to attempt to make sense of what I'm saying as I feel his body press against my own, his heart beating rapidly.  And then, an arm reaches behind him, and he holds my wrist, directing my hand forward, to the front of his body, gently guiding my hands against the warmth that greets me on his thigh, roaming over the fabric, bundled and bunched around the joint between hip and leg.  My other hand lowers itself, as well, sliding smoothly over his skin and down to the fabric of his slacks, and slowly each of them comes to the front, grasping on the button, small and round, as his mouth trespasses upon the flesh of my neck, intermittently sucking and nipping, biting and licking.  "Go ahead," he murmurs lightly against my ear, before darting out his tongue to taste my earlobe and his mouth proceeds to lay waist to the last bit of reservation that had remained in my body.  I pull gently against the fabric until the button is free, and then find the key to his zipper, pulling slowly, timidly, hearing the sound of the metal teeth separating, one at a time, as mine had done not so long ago.  Time seems to stop for one slow moment as I'm faced with the longest unzipping of my life, feeling my body tighten and tense under his touch, and wanting so badly to quickly do more than we have done.

            My mouth finds its way to his once more, the lips, slightly swollen and sensitive, tasting the flavors of his mouth, the spice and scent of passion thick in my mind.  His hands place themselves firmly against my hips, resting there for one slow moment, and then grasp the fabric tightly, pulling down and away, and I feel my pants slowly slide lower against my legs, the sound of leisurely rustling permeating the haze of my mind for a time until I'm finally free from them.  My left leg lifts itself, rubbing my inner thigh against the slack fabric still covering his body, the motion pulling down his own pants slightly.  I pant against his lips, feeling my body heat up despite the chill of the night air in the room, my eyes closed tightly as I continue to pull against whatever I can reach, his shoulders, his arms, his face.  I slide my hand up the back of his neck, feeling the hair flow through my fingers as I reach the top of his head, twining my fingers in the silken tresses and rubbing his scalp.  His body lowers even closer to mine suddenly, the loose pants that remain, covering him still, doing nothing to assist the pressure building between my legs as they slide lightly against a very sensitive area of flesh that no one has ever trespassed upon before this night.  I am unable to decipher the inane things I begin uttering then, suddenly fired from the inside out due to that light, fleeting touch.

            My syllables soon melted into moans, nearly inaudible against the sound of my own heart in my ears and the gasps coming forth from his mouth as my hands found purchase against his pants, pulling down, freeing his body from them.  My countenance spins, my sense of self flying away from who I am as his body once more presses against my own, pulling up my right leg to place it around his waist as a hand travels once more down my stomach, leading from my neck.  My shirt feels rough against my chest compared to what his skin feels like, whispering over my exposed legs and shifting to my inner thigh, where it travels upward, leering closer to its destination far too slowly.  It finally reaches, the supple, elegant hand wrapping into a fist tightly around the center of my lust and slowly moving up and down, up and down, as the other hand slides underneath me, one finger tracing a line through the crevice between my legs until it finds my opening and slowly slides inside.

            I gasp, slightly uncomfortable at the intrusion, the slight burning sensation that gathers there, but he lowers his mouth to his hand, licking and sucking my organ, making it feel as if pure silk has encompassed me, and another finger slides inside, nearly unnoticed.  His hand moves more, along with his mouth, his tongue lapping at the tip as my body shivers intensely.  Another finger slides inside, stretching me uncomfortably, painfully.  I gasp and pant incoherently, sputtering more inane syllables that lay no claim to precise meaning in my own mind.  His mouth slows and pulls away, along with both of his hands, and he leans forward over me, licking my parted lips and trailing his tongue down to my neck, nibbling even more against it.  He pulls my legs up, guiding them to wrap once more around his waist as I continue to mumble and moan, grasping futilely for something solid to hold onto and regain my mental stability.  One of his hands finds it way to his mouth, where he licks his own fingers, coating them with saliva, and then lowers them, slathering his member with the wetness, dampening the flesh there before returning to grasp onto the side of my leg, holding firmly against the fleshy muscular mounds underneath them.  My legs instinctively lock together at the ankle, pulling him closer, unsure of what he's going to do, exactly, but wanting it, all the same.  And, suddenly, his stomach slides against my erection, and I'm greeted with pleasure for one fleeting moment before a sharp pain overtakes me, feeling almost as if I'm falling apart from the inside out.  I bite my own tongue to keep from crying out too loudly, but do so, nonetheless; whimpering and panting as if I can't get enough, despite the pain.  My body reacts differently than my mind, sliding towards the pain, the fire the envelops me, thrusting upwards with animalistic instinct.  I grip onto his shoulders once more, my hands slick against the sweat that lightly coats his body.  The muscles there, taught and tense, shift a bit as he slides lower, then thrusts once more into me, sending the burning sensation to greater distances from its source, and I grunt in pain.  He lowers his mouth to mine, despite the fact that it causes my legs to nearly cramp up, having to stretch so far to keep themselves wrapped tightly, and murmurs something inaudible against my lips before leaning back.

            I doubt I would have understood, even if I could have heard him.  My brain, hazed over with alcohol and lust and pain, doesn't seem to process information clearly as he slides back and thrusts into me a bit faster, a bit deeper.  His hand reaches down once more, grasping my member between our heated bodies and sliding the skin that covers it up and down yet again, his thumb worrying itself around the tip, teasingly.  I bite my bottom lip, nearly causing more pain, as my body reacts despite itself, thrusting upwards into the hand and inviting him to delve even deeper into my body.  A ripping, burning, tightening feeling covers the underside of my body as a tensing, burning, tightening feeling covers my front; so similar, yet fairly different, pain and pleasure mixing and melting against one another, gathering up the heat of lust and enjoying anything and everything that flows through my body as he thrusts into me again, slowly speeding up his rate of movement to something a bit more rhythmic, a bit more similar to a pace.

            Then, he slows down once more, the motion of his hand against me subsiding as well, making me want more.  He seems to speed up again, soon after, pumping his body back and forth between the two speeds, fast, then slow, erotic then nearly painful.  I ride along the tidal wave of passion and lust, a warm sensation building itself slowly in my lower stomach, craving some sort of unsure release as my mouth continues to cry out in spastic tones, going from a high-pitched shriek to practically a whisper as my mind twists itself precariously against a sinuous train of thought that includes nothing more than the fine line of pleasure and pain.  His face drips sweat onto the front of my shirt, still buttoned loosely about my body, his eyebrows knitting themselves close together as he thrusts faster into me.  My mind wraps itself about the tones coming from our mouths, confusing and loud, and my body grasps onto a heat, deep within, nearly spilling forth, but refusing to allow it, enjoying too much the winding road that my mind is walking down, pain, pleasure, passion, lust, love, hate, want, need; all of the feelings colliding in the great kaleidoscope that my mind has become.

            In spite of our lusts and desires, I find myself delving deeper into the inarticulate hums and tones of yearning, my mouth working non-stop against the feelings building inside me, wanting to forever contain it, teetering on the windy precipice between release and pained restraint.  Something unknown causes the desire to continue gripping onto the burning felt in my being, possibly fueled by the sounds of his voice, husky and sonorous as he thrusts deeper into my body and continues to move his hand against my flesh, until finally, I release an odd sort of grunt, and feel my body quiver and tremble against him as something indescribable washes over my mind, darkening out my vision and ceasing my thoughts completely as small sparks of light flash on my tightly closed eyelids.  His hand slows down against me, his thrusting speeds up for but a moment, finally releasing inside of me, and we lay, him on top of me, both of our bodies shivering against each other as we try desperately to grasp onto something solid and steady ourselves.  I find myself reaching for him, pulling his chest onto mine and burying my face onto his, my lips continuing to shake and shudder against the sweat on his cheek.  He breathes deeply, then, a light sigh escaping his mouth as he attempts to regain control of his rapid heartbeat and erratic, shallow breathing.

            I hold him close, the only stable substance I can grasp at the moment, my hands slipping against the soaked, soft flesh and my lips traveling to his neck, where I taste and smell, salty and bitter, the exposed skin that greets me.    And then, sighing in a restrained manner, I lower my face back to the pillow, where I stare into his soft eyes that seem to be smiling at me, before closing my own and slipping into the cool, tepid darkness that is the shroud of sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N:  I know… took me long enough to write, didn't it.  Well… what do you guys think?  Was it worth the wait?  Hmm?  O_o


	8. Somewhere in time, I know it certain to ...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers:  Trigun is not mine.  Plain and simple.  Duh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            "God, almighty, my ass is killing me!"  I sound like a whiney child, my voice nearly shrill but a bit scratchy at the same moment, as Nicholai and I walk through the town at a fairly early time in the morning.  There are only a few others out in these premature hours of the day, where one of the suns has yet to rise above the horizon, many of them making their way to their jobs.  I don't worry too much about upsetting them with my outburst.  One woman, though, walking fairly close by, casts me a peculiar look, raising one eyebrow, and then pointedly looks away.

            I can imagine how I looked to her.  My hair, still lacking its tie, is flying out at irregular angles due to the previous night's activities, my clothes are wrinkled, and I'm limping horribly, only now it's more than likely due to the pain resonating from my rear end, rather than the bullet hole in my thigh.

            Nicholai, walking in his usual carefree stride, smirks at me, an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth.  "Maybe I should be more gentle next time," he says off-handedly, sounding a bit muffled as he tries to talk without his jaw moving, still compressing the cigarette in his mouth.

            I give him a nervous smile, still unsure as to whether or not there will be a next time.  When I awoke this morning, I felt suddenly out of place in his arms, like I had done something horrible.  It makes me feel guilty and rotten, thinking about it.  I find myself confused as to whether or not it was really Nicholai that led me to act they way I did.  Honestly, I know next to nothing about him, and it's slightly unnerving to know that he is so familiar with my past and myself.  Then again, lots of people are familiar with the legend of "Vash the Stampede," the former sixty billion double dollar man who fought his evil brother Knives and brought him back to some semblance of sanity, though some people are unaware of the fact that the legend is still alive and well.  I shouldn't worry too much about it.

            "There's the water system, up there," Nicholai says suddenly, raising his arm to point out the large silver structure towards the outskirts of town that dwarfs the other buildings nearby.  It's not too far of a walk, now.  I'm thankful for that.  My leg was beginning to ache again, the bullet hole still causing me a bit of an upset.  I may be nearly immortal, but I'm damn well not invincible.  It hurts.

            "Good!  I thought we were going to be walking around _forever_, looking for it," I say, picking up my pace, despite the pain, and trying to act as if I'm excited about the fact that I'm going to have to confront my brother soon.  Honestly, I was almost hoping that we would have to walk around forever.  I don't think I can take dealing with my brother right now, if he's already there, beginning the work on it.  Nicholai catches up to my newly inspired quick pace and wraps an arm around my waist.  I respond by wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving him a smile.  He must have noticed how much my wound was hurting me.

            "Vash, when we see your brother… I want to be there with you."

            That took me totally by surprise.  Nicholai has nothing to do with the fight between my brother and I, and I don't like involving unnecessary people in our family quarrels.  "Why would you want to do that?" I ask, trying my best to pin him with a tough look, something analogous to suspicion and anxiety.

            He wholly ignores the look, giving me a soft smile, and changes the angle of our walk, towards a small general store.  I stare ahead questioningly, wondering for the life of me why he would need to go into the store.  He points to the rough-looking bench set outside on the wooden porch.  "I think we need to have a semi-serious discussion, babe."

            I'm a bit taken aback by him calling me, "babe," but I ignore it as best I can and let him help me onto the porch and over to the rickety, none too safe-looking bench.  I turn slowly, doing my best not to twist my leg any more than necessary, and settle myself down onto it, the wood brushing roughly against my pants and, more than likely, flaking splinters onto them.  Nicholai sits down next to me, with far more grace, and pins me with a serious expression.  "Here's how it is, Vash.  I'm going to be straight with you, now.  Tell you the truth.  I like you a lot, Vash."

            I can feel my cheeks heat up at that, the left side of my mouth wanting to twitch into a small, embarrassed smile or grin.  All I can do is nod half-heartedly, though.  I really don't know if I should respond to that, or not.

            He continues, "I know I've only known you a day, really, but it's nice to be around you.  I like being around you.  I hope we can be around each other for a while."

            I pale, wondering what exactly he's saying, then, despite my nervousness, I allow my frivolous nature to take hold, and I quickly stand, stretching a bit despite the pain in my thigh.  "Okay, Nicholai," I say simply, not even bothering to care if it is an affirmation and acceptance of his previous words.  I know I'm not ready or willing to start spouting sonnets to a man I've only known one day, and slept with because I was drunk.  That's not the way the world works.  "We'd better get going, then.  The second sun has already risen."  I point to the horizon, where a subsequent sunrise is showing itself over the dusty plain.

            I walk off the porch and hear Nicholai mumble a few words to himself before standing.  He quickly catches up with me, eyes downcast and hands in his pockets.  He's probably hurt by my practically ignoring him.  I suppose I should apologize, or something.  I mean, I didn't want to hurt him, but how else can you convey the message that you're not ready to talk about something without coming off as crass?  I'm sure there was some better way to do it, but at this point in time, I have not a clue as to what those ways may be.  The only thing really on my mind right now is what I'm going to do when I see Knives again.  I sigh at my own thoughts and Nicholai looks at me out of the corner of his eye.  "We're here," I say finally, the words I'd been nearly dreading for an hour, now.  The silver casing of the main structure of the water refinery plant winks at me in the sunlight, and I grab onto the railing of the stairs in front of me and begin walking up, taking slow, deliberate steps.  My feet clank hollowly on the iron grating of the steps, as do Nicholai's behind me, until I finally reach the door at the top and pull it open, the metal hinges creaking loudly.

            Once inside, after Nicholai closes the door behind him, I remain stagnant for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the light, or lack thereof.  In the distance, I can hear a few noises permeating the darkness.  The slight blipping sound of computers doing their jobs, the sound of water flowing through pipes, and somewhere, there is the sound of someone typing at a control panel, the keys tapping rapidly.  I know almost immediately that it's Knives, and I hesitantly begin walking forward, going down the long, thin corridor until I finally come to a corner.  I turn right and the corridor opens up into a room, round and sweeping, the light of computer panels that line the complete structure of the walls reflecting off of the polished surface of the floor and ceiling in faded blues, reds, yellows and greens.  Directly in front of me, there are tubes with water flowing downwards through them, lit in an eerie green glow and covered by a layer of thick glass, and in front of them, at the main control panel, typing away at the console, is Knives, his blonde hair turned green with blue streaks due to the lights around him.

            He is the first to speak, his hands never faltering on the keys in front of him.  "Vash," he says knowingly.  "What are you doing here?"

            I swallow harshly in my throat, not knowing what to say.  What am I doing here, anyway?  "I… was hoping to talk to you."

            He stops his typing for but a moment, his back straightening and his head rising slightly to peer at us in the reflection of the glass.  He then resumes to staring downwards, his fingers also resuming their typing.  "What's he doing here, if you wanted to talk to me?"

            Nicholai steps forward, halfway between Knives and myself.  "I'm here because I want to talk to you, too," he says pointedly, much to my surprise.  I take a step forward, as well, closing a bit of the distance between us.

            Knives immediately stops his typing and whirls around in the chair bolted to the floor in front of the console, pinning us both with a furious glare.  "Vash, I suggest you call off your pet before I hurt him," he hisses at me.

            Nicholai immediately closes the gap between himself and Knives, glaring down at him with a matched ferocity in his eyes.  He pokes him in the chest with one finger, and I immediately tense at the action, knowing Knives will not consider it a very nice thing to do…

            "Listen Knives.  Quit being such a hard-ass to your brother.  He's a good man, much better than you, and he deserves to be treated as such.  Stop bossing him around and treating him like shit.  It's already starting to piss me off."

            Knives falters for a moment, apparently taken aback by Nicholai's forwardness.  I find myself staring blankly between the two of them, unsure as to what will happen next and unsure as to whether I can do anything about it.  Knives then takes the initiative, standing from his seat and grabbing onto Nicholai's wrist, pulling it down and away from his chest.  Nicholai doesn't seem to react to the action, although I know from personal experience that Knives' grip is like a vice.  Knives' eyes narrow even more than before and he frowns slightly.  I take a step towards them, my hand outstretched as if to grab for something.  "Knives, don't…"

            He cuts me off with a furious glare, then twists Nicholai's wrist so sharply that he lets out a quick gasp.  Whether out of surprise, or pain, I don't care.  I react immediately, closing the distance between us and grabbing onto Knives' wrist.  "Let him go," I say angrily, with much more force than I had ever hoped to conjure up.  Knives stares at me, his expression fixed.  "We didn't come here to fight, Knives.  I just want to talk to you."

            My answer is another sharp twist of Nicholai's wrist, and another startled gasp.  Then, all hell breaks loose.  Nicholai, apparently tired of getting treated like a helpless victim, rears back one fist and hurls it into Knives' face.  I hear the sickening crack of bone against bone, and in the blink of an eye Knives is sent falling back into the console with so much force his wrist is jerked free of my hand.  A few of the consoles begin to beep at him in protest, and a small spark flies out from it.  Knives jerks away from it in surprise, then stops in his tracks and glares at Nicholai, a small trickle of blood running down from his nose.  "You arrogant little bitch!" he growls at him and then makes a step as if to attack.

            I step in between the two of them, glaring back at Knives.  "We don't want to fight, Knives.  Just calm down."  He glares at me for a moment, and then begins to step forward as if to walk right past me.  I put a hand on his shoulder.  "Knives, stop."  A pain suddenly forms in my stomach, and I double over before I even realize what happened.  I look at my feet in amazement for a moment, wondering how I got in that position, then as Knives moves past me, I realize that he must have hit me in the stomach.  I grab his arm as he passes, holding onto his sleeve even though I'm still bent over.  "Stop it," I order, my face still twisted in pain.  Knives certainly has one hell of an arm.

            He jerks said arm free of my grasp, but I quickly counter it, straightening myself and grabbing onto his other arm.  He jerks that one free as well and shoves me away.  The backs of my knees connect with the stool in front of the main console and I topple backwards, hitting my head so hard on the floor that I bite my tongue.  I close my eyes tightly in pain, sitting up a bit to rub the back of my head.  My eyes fly open when I feel someone grab onto the front of my shirt and jerk me to my feet, then slam me against the glass covering the pipes and the terminal.  Knives is nearly an inch from my face, glaring at me, his teeth gritting themselves tightly together.

            I let out a small whimper that sounds weak and pathetic to my own ears and grab onto his wrists.  "Knives, stop it!"  He lifts me forward then slams me back into the glass once more.

            "Knives, stop it," he mocks before pulling me forward to slam my head into the glass again.  "You useless wimp," he spits at me and I look up at him through the hair that has fallen into my eyes, my jaw set angrily.

            I begin to push him off of me, using any leverage I can get to press against him.  He puts up a fight for a moment, and then suddenly stops, his eyes wide and staring beside me, into the glass.  I look behind him and see Nicholai, his face set into a scowl towards the back of Knives' head.  "Let him go," he hisses at Knives, still scowling.  Then, I see what has gotten Knives so upset.  At the end of Nicholai's arm is a gun, Knives' gun, and the barrel of it is resting against his blonde hair.  I find myself wondering how he had removed it from his holster without Knives noticing.

            "Oh, God… don't do this," I whisper at Nicholai, trying my best to sound commanding despite the fact that I'm scared out of my mind.  Nicholai merely gives me a quick glance then returns his sights to the back of Knives' head.

            "Let him go," he repeats, more authoritative this time.  I realize that we're all at a standstill at the moment, and I ponder in captivated fascination what could transpire next.  Is Knives really willing to risk his life to beat the living daylights out of us?  I certainly hope not.

            Finally, Knives concedes, releasing the front of my shirt and lowering his head before taking a few steps back and staring at Nicholai with a blank expression.  He gives me a wary glance, inquiring in a way, and I turn my attentions to Nicholai, who is still aiming down the sights at Knives' head.  I will my feet forward, slow and deliberate, until I am by his side, my hand resting atop his and lowering the gun until it is aimed at the reflective silver flooring.  I smile at him, weakly, trying to draw his attention from Knives, and just when I think that this whole hellish encounter has come to a conclusion, the bronzed hand raises the black gun once again, returning to the previous location.  "Nicholai," I begin weakly, a futile attempt to calm him, when I am interrupted.

            "Apologize to your brother!" Nicholai barks, the gun wavering slightly in his hand.  I nearly gasp in surprise, then favor a glance at Knives, who is now scowling deeply, his eyes conveying the message perfectly that he will never agree to that.

            "That's not necessary, Nicholai," I whisper weakly, placing my hand back onto his.  He jerks away from me immediately.

            "Yes it is!" he screams with much more passion than I ever thought to hear from someone like him; someone who had only known me a day, and was already trying to become my protector.

            A bit shaken, I return my hand to his, still trying to calm him.  "No, it's alright.  Knives just has a temper, is all.  He would never really hurt me."  Strangely enough, I find myself beginning to wonder if I believe these words I'm speaking.  The entire idea of Knives ever fatally injuring me seems like a strange dream, yet somehow, when he gets truly angry, it's been all I can do to protect my life from him, to persuade him _not_ to kill me.  I suppose everyone has his limits.  I've learned not to push him too far by now, I suppose.

            Nicholai is glaring fiercely, angrily.  It's all I can do to keep from looking away from that intense, ferocious look when he turns it on me.  "Would never really hurt you?"  His voice takes on a venomous tone, accusatory and harsh.  "He shot you, Vash!  What else does he do to you?"  I take a step back, unsure of myself, unsure of Nicholai's underlying tones, unsure of Nicholai himself.  For some reason, I simply gawk at him, staring blankly, unable to form any truly coherent thought other than the fact that he's scaring me.  "I say we show him what it's like to get shot."

            I do the only thing I can do, given my immature sensibilities and stubborn ideals:  I step forward, trying to block the bullet, or even throw off Nicholai's aim.  He immediately knows that I'm doing this, though, and takes one step away from me, that small movement becoming enough to throw me off and cause me to stumble behind him.  I close my eyes tightly and look away when I hear the shot and see, out of the corner of my eye, the kick of the gun causing Nicholai's hand to jerk upwards.  I don't want to look; I can't look.  I finally open my eyes to see my own reflection in a glass covered computer panel, the green lights underneath adding a sickening gleam to my face, all shadows and hideous contours.  I can't bring myself to move, then, trapped in my own eyes, the _look_ in my eyes; something bordering on insanity, no doubt.

            Then, when I hear Knives groan in pain finally, I turn and see him grabbing his own thigh, nearly the same place he had shot me.  His hands are tainted with a strange, sickly red liquid and I am unable to comprehend that it's blood.  I know it's blood.  I know it is, but I don't believe it.  I can't believe Nicholai just shot my brother.  Nicholai shot my brother.

            "Nicholai!" I scream angrily, turning on him, expecting to do something, anything, but I end up staring at empty space, instead.  I look down and see him on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest and his shoulders shaking.  My anger is momentarily halted when I see him lift his head, gazing up blankly at the ceiling with tears streaming down his cheeks slowly.  I am immediately at his side then, my hands resting firmly on his shoulder.  "Nicholai?" I question weakly, wanting to believe that this is all just some weird dream and that I'll wake up very, very soon.

            His shoulders shake a bit more, and then he laughs.  He opens his mouth and laughs.  I recognize almost instantly, though, that it is not a normal laugh.  It's tinged with bitterness, hatred, and self-loathing.  Then, his laughter breaks into choked sobs and he buries his head in knees and falls towards me, releasing a pitiable keen of complete revulsion.  My arms wrap around him tightly, confusion setting in and causing my mind to whirl and run around in compact, trite circles: Nicholai shot Knives.  Knives is bleeding.  Help Knives.  Nicholai is crying.  Help Nicholai.  Must do something.

            I glance over at Knives, who is standing weakly in the corner of the room, using the main workstation as his crutch to keep him upright.  For the moment, he seems fine.  I turn back to Nicholai.  He's stopped crying already, yet now he's staring blankly ahead of him, rocking back and forth as much as the tight grip I have on him will allow.  The man who I thought had become my protector has crumbled into pieces at my feet, and I find myself wrapping my arms about him even tighter, running my fingers through his hair and shushing him.  I suppose that now, I've become his protector.  Damn.  Had I known any of this would happen, I would have stayed in bed.

            "Nicholai, talk to me," I whisper into his ear, pressing my cheek to his.  It feels cold and sweaty at the same time.  He shivers a bit, then pulls back and stares, his eyes seeming to look intently at someplace beyond me, right through me.

            "I did it again," he whispers, more to himself than to me.

            I fair a glance at Knives, catching sight of his blood-soaked trousers.  I shake my head resolutely and turn back to Nicholai.  "It's okay, Nicky," I say soothingly, burying my face in his neck, still trying to calm him.  I don't really know what it is that has him so upset, but I'm damn well going to help him, for reasons I am unsure of at the moment.  I'm damn well going to find out what this was all about when he regains his senses, too.

            "Aw.  That's so sweet," Knives hisses cynically at us, sneering.  He closes the distance between us, wobbling slightly as he walks, and then carefully leans down to retrieve his gun.  He replaces it in the back of his pants, lowering his jacket down to cover it, and then sneers down at me once more.  I gaze up to him, at a loss as to what I should do.  Complete confusion and uncertainty has burrowed itself into my brain for the moment.  I need some direction.  Luckily, I get just that.  "If you're done with your lovey-dovey shit now, I'd like to seek medical attention."

            That's what I needed to hear, right now.


	9. Somewhere in time, love is forever.

A/N: People, I could not be more depressed right now. I had just finished Chapter 9 of this story on my laptop, and we had a storm. Stupid me, I fell asleep, forgetting to unplug the laptop and BOOM! It gets struck by lightning. I lost my entire laptop. All of my anime, my music videos, my college work that's due tomorrow, and worst of all, my entire story. Luckily, Chapters 1-8 are on FF.net, but I can't say the same for Chapter 9. Needless to say, I'm a bit brought down by this. I don't feel like rewriting Chapter 9, because I'm angry, depressed, and... really, really angry. Then, to top it all off, I get that damn stupid review. ::growls:: I am now ready to commit murder, BUT I'm not going to let that stop me. I'm going to rewrite this son of a bitch, piss on Wiessburger's, or whatever his name is, head, and say "Kiss my ass, world. Fuck you, too."

I thought I was angry when half a chapter got destroyed because my computer froze up. I was SO wrong...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm not in the mood for anything "witty" right now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, this circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nicholai tends to think that I overreact to certain things involving my brother. I tend to think that he's a smart-ass, presuming that he knows me and understands what I do and why I do it. This little disagreement of ours, having begun on the way to the hospital, could easily lead to a fight, were it to be allowed. I suppose that's why I'm here now, lying on the roof of the water refinement plant in the arid heat of the dual suns. It's the tallest building in this town, so I have a good view of the landscape around me. I suppose I should appreciate it right now, but honestly, I don't. I have far too much on my mind to sit back and sigh to myself, thinking of how beautiful the world has become. Nicholai's probably mad at me, my relationship with him already treading upon rocky, jagged, unsure ground. Knives is unpredictably furious, his temper seeming to come into being more often than not and it's usually me who has to deal with it. In fact, it's always me.

That Nicholai and Knives thing is upsetting me the most, actually. Their small disagreement on how I should be treated should not have gone so far as to have Nicholai pull a gun on my brother. Honestly, I don't understand why he did that. I also don't understand why he seemed confused and unstable afterwards. Asking him what happened probably upset him and lead to our disagreement. In the end, though, I won the argument. That is, of course, if you can call walking away and leaving him standing in the small lobby of the hospital, "winning." I wouldn't really want to be around him right now, anyway, what with the choice words he used to describe my brother and my relationship with my brother. Imagine him saying that we acted like a married couple. An _abusive_ married couple! The very idea is not only absurd and unfounded, but also unsettling.

I have tried to explain to him that my brother simply has a temper. A temper that tends to show itself wholly when goaded. I'm surprised he reacted to Nicholai as calmly as he did. Despite myself, I tended to expect the worst, in that situation. Mainly because I know how my brother can be... especially to people other than myself. Either way, I'm glad that things turned out as well as they did. I do know, however, that nothing good can come from the two of them being around one another. It's depressing me to think this way, but what would happen, were I required to make a decision regarding this? What would I do if I were forced to choose between Nicholai and my brother? Who would I stay with?

My brother's not a bad man. Neither is Nicholai. They both have their good qualities. Knives can be extremely protective of me, sometimes overly so. That over-protective nature, though, lets me know that he cares a great deal about me, despite his anger. I know that Knives is not angry at me. Despite all that he's learned to accept, he's still angry at the world. And Nicholai... Nicholai's a wonderful person. Just being around him makes me feel relaxed and comfortable. He makes me smile and laugh like I haven't done in years, now. Only thing is, though, he reminds me of Wolfwood...

Pulling myself into a sitting position, I cast a glance towards the horizon in the direction of the suns. They're already near setting. I didn't realize it was so late already. I suppose I can just blame it on being caught up in my thoughts. A light wind gusts from behind my position, blowing my hair, which remains unbound, into my eyes. I sigh and brush what I can behind my ears before glancing upwards. The sunset to my right causes illuminating pinks and yellows and reds to obscure the normally blue sky. It would be peaceful, in a way, were I not so stressed right now. I'm too upset to care about the pretty colors in the sky.

I wonder where Nicholai is right now. He didn't seem to care about my dilemma, casually crossing his arms and turning his head away from me in apparent frustration when I made the statement that I should stay with my brother and that he should continue on to the room above the bar that we had previously rented for an extra night. That's when Nicholai began berating me for my actions towards my brother, and Knives began yelling at me from the other room that he didn't want me there. After a moment of putting up with that, I left. I couldn't very well stay there with Nicholai breathing down my neck and Knives screaming at me to, "get the hell out." I suppose it was a good choice to just walk away from it all. I'm not much for arguing with others; never have been. Still, though, I wonder why Nicholai has been so odd lately. I suppose it's pointless to just sit here thinking about it. I'll just have to get to the root of the problem, and ask him the next time I see him.

I also don't know what Nicholai's attachment to me is. It's confusing. He's only known me for two days, now, and he's already trying to become my protector. It's flattering, I suppose, but that fails to make it any less unnerving. That's another thing I'm going to have to ask him about. Hell, maybe I should just make a list of things to ask people, these days. So many questions continue to swim around in my head, and their answers have yet to appear.

Knives... can't hate humans as much as he appears to. He was with Legato and Midvalley and Dominique and all of those others for so long, he had to have formed some sort of bond or connection with at least one of them. Legato, at least. They may have had a strange, twisted, sinuous relationship, but that doesn't mean that Knives felt nothing when he looked at Legato. He can't be completely dead inside. Thinking back, I know that Knives loved Rem just as much as I did. He tried to deny it, to himself and to me, but it was futile. I could tell when he looked at her, then looked at me and the way that Rem would seem to pay me special attention. I now know that I enjoyed the fact that Rem seemed to like me more. Knives was jealous of me, and I was jealous of Knives, so we were constantly at each others' throats, despite our all-inclusive love for one another. It's only natural, I suppose. How can you develop your own individuality when you look across the room and see someone exactly identical to yourself staring back at you? The only way would be to constantly compete with one another. What an idiot I was.

Rem was such a nice person. I'm sure she loved us both equally. She had to have. She would be unable to love one person, and not another... right? Why don't I ever get answers to my questions?

Dammit... I give up...

"So... on the first celestial evening..." The first sun is gone, disappeared below the horizon. The pinks and yellows and reds of the sky are slowly dissipating, lessening, due to the fact that only one sun remains. Stars are slowly appearing through the cool hues of evening. I'm gradually becoming less stressed, now that the sky is darker. I suddenly realize that I have spent nearly the entire day up here, on the roof. Once more, I give thanks to the fact that I'm a plant, and cannot be sunburned. I've seen people suffer from that affliction. It's not very pleasant.

Taking a moment to once more brush the free strands of hair that lightly tickle my cheek behind my ear, I release a tense sigh, slumping my shoulders with the action. I wonder if Nicholai's still mad at me... if he was ever mad at me, to begin with. Maybe there was no reason for me to run away from him, like I did. Even so, I think I needed this time alone to collect my thoughts and think through some things. I'm sure that I probably have more of a reason to be upset than Nicholai does. I mean, he shot my brother, after all. But still, he was only trying to protect me. He may have gone a bit overboard with his actions, but I'm sure he meant no wrong by it.

I lie back on the rooftop once more, stretching out my arms and legs, sprawling really, as I look up at the sky. The stars leisurely wink at me and greet the slow smile that begins to form upon my features. Then, I begin to hear a light tune, the sound of someone's voice humming in a peculiar melody that sounds faintly familiar. For the moment, I simply cast the thoughts and notions aside, believing the source of the song to be nothing more than a resident of the town taking a leisurely stroll in the evening, and fair myself a few more moments of peace and solitude before I decide to go back and find Nicholai... or Knives. Yet when the source stops below my position atop the water refinement plant, still humming casually, I pay a bit more attention to the song... so familiar...

"So... on the second celestial evening..." Hurriedly, I sit up, crawling to the edge of the rooftop to peer over to the ground, the majority of my hair falling forward in front of my face before I brush it back behind my ears. Nicholai stands there, looking back up at me, a smile lighting his tanned features that seem even more obscured in the darkness. Hands in his pockets and a cigarette stuffed between his lips, he's the most striking, welcome sight I could hope for right now. He casually waves a hand toward me in greeting, and my smile broadens. "What're you doing up there?" he inquires, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice resonates, echoes off of the buildings nearby.

"Just sitting," I state flatly. "Are you coming up, or should I come down?"

"I'm coming up," he answers immediately, and then disappears out of sight. I take the given moment to turn myself around, sitting down once more and drawing my knees up to my chest to wrap my arms around them. His footsteps, clanking against the iron rungs of the ladder, fill my ears and a moment later, his head and body appear. Cigarette still clamped tightly between his teeth, he walks to me as I stretch out my legs and lean back onto my hands. 

"I didn't expect you to find me," I say offhandedly, brushing more locks of hair behind my ear. Damn, I need to find a new hair tie.

"Eh, I used to hide out on rooftops, when I was a kid. Just felt like taking a break, huh?" he nearly sighs, sitting down next to me. His arm immediately finds its way to my back, hand resting upon my shoulder. Despite myself, I lean into the slack, casual embrace.

"Yeah, I guess so." I lower my gaze, hesitant for a moment. "I'm sorry about earlier. You know, leaving you like that."

"Oh, that's okay. I should be the one apologizing. Shouldn't have said those things." I nod in agreement with that, forgiving him immediately, before silence descends heavily.

Surprisingly, Nicholai is the one to break it. "I... talked to Knives."

Turning to grin at him, I lean into his embrace a bit more, feeling proud that Nicholai could do something like that. A weight feels like it's been lifted from my shoulders, knowing that the problems between the two of them are so quickly resolving themselves. "What did he have to say?"

Nicholai looks away at that, and for a moment I wonder why. Deciding that letting him explain himself would be the best possible action to take, I do just that and wait patiently for him to begin. I refuse to allow the doubts and suspicions to creep into my mind, forcefully shoving them aside so that I can deal with whatever he has to say with a rational consciousness. "We decided that I would stay out of his way, and he would stay out of mine."

Nearly instantaneous relief washes over me, and my smile returns. Was that the only thing he had to say? Did he think I would be upset about that? Of course not. It's a bit disappointing that they can't come up with a more reasonable solution, but for the time being, and to resolve any problems that could result due to idle grudges, I'm willing to fully accept it. "That's good to hear, I guess. I mean, it's good that you two can talk without trying to hurt each other, now."

His hand removes itself from my shoulder and he leans forward, clasping his hands together in his lap. I know that can't be good... A bit foolish of me to think that my problems could be so easily resolved. I mean, this is _me_.

"Well, you see, Vash... the thing is... I told Knives I would agree to staying out of his way, if he stayed out of yours." I don't like where this is headed. "I think he took what I said the wrong way." I really don't like where this is headed. "He says he doesn't want to see you again... ever..."

My head spins for one quick moment and I leap to my feet, wondering to myself what I'm going to do now that I'm standing. I settle for simply yelling at him. "Nicholai, how _could_ you? How could you be so presumptuous and spiteful? He's my _brother_! He's really the only family I've got!"

Nicholai slowly pulls himself to his feet, eyes downcast and hands on his hips. He shakes his head at me and sighs. "I knew you were going to get mad. I was only trying to help, you know."

"Help? Trying to help?" For some reason, the fact that he would refer to destroying my relationship with my brother as _helping_ makes me even more angry than I had been. The very idea that this man, whom I've only known for three days, now, is trying to help me is beyond my comprehension. It's also confusing to me that every time he tries to help, he just causes more problems. I'm reminded of myself, suddenly, and that just makes it worse. I step forward, grabbing onto the front of his white shirt, noticing for the first time that he seems to have discarded the black jacket, and pull him towards myself. "Nicholai, you never help. All you ever do is cause more problems!"

He immediately grabs onto my wrist, raising his gaze to meet mine, and I notice that he is not, as I had expected him to be, angry with me. His eyes do not convey vehemence or bitterness at the fact that I would willingly raise a hand to him in anger. Instead, he looks hurt and forlorn, barren and out of ideas. A million emotions swim through the surface of his eyes, and I find myself releasing his shirt and stepping back. Yet, he still holds my wrist, his thumb beginning a relaxing massage of my hand. "Vash, please try to understand where I was coming from when I said that to your brother."

"Where? Where were you coming from? Help me to understand why you would say things like that about someone you barely know to someone you know even less."

"It's only natural to want to protect the people you love when they're unable to do it for themselves."

For a moment, I simply stare at him, the weight of his words melting into some semblance of understanding. I realize then that he's trying to sugar-coat and barely veil the insult lying within his statement and my anger rises once again. I jerk my hand away from his and take a step back, fists clenched at my side. "You're saying I can't defend myself? I _fought_ my brother, Nicholai, and I won. When it's important to fight, I do it, and I never fail. Those arguments you've seen, though... they're unimportant. They mean nothing. There would be no point in fighting him over those simple disputes. Don't you understand that?"

Nicholai seems to falter for a moment, his eyes quickly scanning the surroundings and then returning to me. "I... dammit, I was only trying to help. It hurts me to see him hurt you. Don't _you_ understand _that_? Vash, your relationship with your brother is not good. It's not right to have someone do the things that he does to you. It can't feel good, and I think that you know it's not right."

I turn from him quickly and practically stomp towards the ladder, fully intent upon getting away from him before he throws the truth in my face again. Of course I know it's not right. Of course it doesn't feel good to have your own brother be so cruel. He must think I'm a masochist, enjoying the hurt that he causes. "I don't enjoy it," I continually tell myself as I step down the rungs of the ladder, "but it's my problem, and mine alone."

As I step onto the ground and begin walking away, I hear Nicholai's footfalls as he jogs to the ladder and then hurriedly lowers himself down it. The sudden, solid clanking sound alerts me that he has jumped from the ladder and the sound of rushed footsteps that he is trying to catch me. I don't want to deal with him now. Not right now. I close my eyes tightly for a moment, take a deep breath, and continue walking, turning a corner into an alleyway that leads to the main street. Before I know it, there is one arm around my waist and another around my throat. Of course, my natural reaction is to defend myself from some sort of attack, despite the fact that I don't believe Nicholai would do something like that. My body tenses in anticipation.

We remain silent for a moment, him holding me from behind, his cheek resting against the back of my head. Then, I realize that _holding me_ is exactly what he's doing and I relax a bit, my hand finding its way to his at my stomach. "Vash, please listen to me for a minute."

I slowly sigh to myself and pull away, trying to turn around. He stops me, tightening his grip just a bit. "No, don't turn around. Just listen." I lower my head in acceptance. "Knives is angry right now. If you go talk to him, you're just going to make it worse. All I'm asking is that you give it some time, let him cool down." He loosens his grip and turns me around, my eyes still downcast. "Please?"

I look up to him, realizing that he's slightly taller than I am. Gazing into his eyes, the smoky blue changed into near black due to the absence of light, I think for a moment that I can see the stars reflecting in them, and searching them, I find that I believe him. I once more put my trust in him and give him a weak, sad smile. "Okay. Alright, I'll wait a while."

He smiles back at me, his hand coming up to my face to gently caress my cheek with his fingertips before he leans forward, placing a light kiss on my lips. Despite the fact that it only lasts a moment, the absolute feeling of the moment is conveyed, the loose, trusting embrace, the ethereal feel of flesh to flesh and breath to breath and despite myself, I nearly shiver with the action, overcome by the saccharine-engulfed performance.

Smirking at my own mawkish behavior, I take a step away from him, never relinquishing the grip on his hand, and walk out onto the street. Under the dimly glowing street lamps, I pull him up to my side and begin a casual stroll through the town, not yet knowing where I'm heading.

"Well, we've got some time. Just me and you." I fair him a glance as he walks, free hand in his pocket and eyes downcast, a slight frown marring his features. It really doesn't suit him. "So, what would you like to do, Nicky?"

His mouth twitches a bit, seeming as if he's processing the ideas in his head. Then, he says one of the best things he could say, making me ecstatic despite the previous day's depressive happenings. "Let's go back to our room at the bar."

Music to my ears...


	10. And the love that yearns the lover will ...

A/N: This chapter's gonna suck. This is a warning. I'm depressed for various reasons, and I'm trying to calm myself down. Not only did my laptop get fried a while back, but my DESKTOP crashed, as well. This is one of those, "when it rains, it pours," situations.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer: Vash not mine. Knives not mine. Nicholai... MINE... all mine! ::insidious cackle::

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, this circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Last night, I had a dream. I was in a beautiful place... an Eden. I had an innate feeling that something was out of place, as I looked around at the lush, green grass, the blue sky with only a single sun, and the trees and flowers and birds that were thick around me. I breathed deeply, could smell the heady, strong scent of life everywhere. It burned right into my soul, my very being. Then, I looked more, and I realized that I was the thing that was out of place. That my body, my very existence in the world had corrupted and tainted everything.

Knives came to me, then, almost appearing out of thin air, fluttering into being right before my eyes. He placed his hand on my cheek in a gentle, loving way that I had never known him capable of. He brushed my lips lightly with his thumb before the other hand rose and rested on the back of my neck. And it felt good.

For a moment, we stood there like that, gazing into each others' eyes for the longest time, seconds stretching out into hours. Then, Knives moved forward, shifting his weight, and kissed me. Lightly, grazing, and sinfully sweet. His lips met mine, I am certain of that, but it felt like nothing more than a light wind had tickled its path along my face. His hand lowered, reached down my back. I arched into the touch.

When a sharp pain overtook my being, I crumpled to the ground, taking my brother with me. The Eden around me began to spin and become hazy. Lights flashed red behind my eyelids. My chest constricted, my stomach churned and my back felt as if my very spine were pulling itself out through my flesh. I fumbled for Knives' shoulders, my hands passing through his form and sending the colors of his clothing into strange swirled patterns. Finally, I grasped onto something solid, and the pain stopped for a moment. I looked up, expecting to see my brother, and instead, was greeted by a dried, sunken face. The skin was tight and thinly woven over the protruding cheekbones. The creatures nose was crumpled and gone, and where eyes should have been, there were nothing more than two glowing yellow dots in pitch black.

Time stopped, then, and I was outside of my body, watching as the figure above me hovered silently. One hand on my face, the other buried into my back as blood welled up and dripped down around the wound it had caused. A black cloak, tattered and threadbare, swirled around the skeletal form in an unfelt wind. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone and I was left in a nothing. There was no light, but there was also no darkness. No sight, no smell, no taste and no feeling.

I was completely alone. I turned my head to the left and the right. I grasped for my own arms, and, feeling nothing, began to pull at my own flesh, ripping and scraping it away. The muscles underneath became exposed, yet blood refused to drip, because there was no up or down, nowhere to go.

In complete and utter horror at my own dilapidated self, I screamed. I threw back my head and screamed as loudly as I could, yet no sound was made.

Waking up in a cold sweat and hearing the echo from my previously unheard scream in my head, I had to remind myself that I was, in fact, alive and well. I was in a warm bed with Nicholai at my side, his arm still hung loosely around my waist and his face buried into the pillows.

I quickly climbed out of the bed and ran to the bathroom, where I've been for quite a while now, in the shower, sitting at the bottom of the tub with the water pattering on my face. It's not helping to calm me much. I shiver every time I think about it.

The thin curtain around the shower is suddenly ripped aside and I gasp and jump, startled out of my mind as my heart begins to race. I don't like being scared like that, so I come out fighting. "Nicholai! What the hell are you doing!? Don't you ever _knock_?"

He smiles at me, despite my anger, and I cross my arms over my chest angrily and frown at him. My eyes wander lower for a moment, and I take note that he's still nude. Not that it takes any of my anger or apprehension away, but it's a welcome distraction.

"You okay, babe? You've been in here for a while, now."

"Just thinking." I spit out some water that trickled into my mouth and tear my gaze away from him.

"What about?"

"Had a nightmare."

He steps into the tub and slides down behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and propping his chin up on my shoulder. "Care to talk about it?"

I lean into his embrace, feeling his heart pound strongly against my back as his legs stretch out alongside mine. He places a light kiss on my shoulder as the water cascades down our bodies and my hand finds its way to his at my waist. I feel a little better, having his arms around me. His taught muscles flexing as he moves, slick, bare skin sliding over mine. How is it, that no matter what I'm previously feeling, when he is near, I feel comforted? How does he do that?

In a serious tone, despite the foolishness of the statement, I say, "I think I've lost my mind."

I can feel his chest tighten as he lets out one short gasp of a chuckle. "Well, you're old. Any normal person your age would have lost their minds years ago."

"Yeah, but that's not it."

"What is?" Another light kiss on my shoulder.

"I had a dream that Knives... well, he kissed me, and then I died."

Another short chuckle. "I always knew that guy would be the death of you."

"Nicholai, it's not funny. It scared me."

"It was just a dream."

"But it felt real."

He squeezes me a bit tighter around the waist, clenches my hand in his own. "Dreams don't mean anything, Vash. They're only subconscious worries and stresses that have been suppressed in our minds, coming out in the form of vivid images that give the feel of reality."

"Then how do you explain two or more people having the same dream at the same time?"

"Coincidence."

I shake my head at him, grinning a bit despite myself. If only everything could be as simple as he lays it out to me. He has the whole world figured out in his mind, including myself and my brother, whom I myself have various troubles in comprehending. I guess that's why I like him so much. "You're right. It was just a dream." I nod resolutely at this conclusion and slowly drag myself to my feet, rinsing my hair one last time in the spray of water. Nicholai stands as well, behind me, and I turn around, smile at him, and step out of the tub.

As I wrap a towel around my waist, Nicholai closes the curtain, then peeks his head back out. "You could at least give me a good morning kiss," he admonishes, his eyebrows raised and a little frown puckering his lips. He looks so cute like that.

I smirk and wrap the towel tighter around my waist. "Maybe after you brush your teeth."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"No, Nicky. It works much better if you keep both eyes open."

"Like this?" Nicholai opens his other eye, sights along the barrel, and releases a shot. The sound reverberates off the low sand dunes around us for a moment and then recedes. I stare at the line of bottles set up on a row of concrete blocks a good fifty feel away. Not one of them is broken, and we've been out here for quite a while.

"Maybe we should move forward another twenty feel, or so?"

"No, I can do this. I'll get it, eventually. Your gun's really heavy, though, and it's powerful. It makes my arm jerk when I fire it."

"That's called the 'kick,' and yeah, it's powerful."

Nicholai asked me, after stepping out of the bathroom this morning, if I would take him out and show him how to shoot a gun properly. Admittedly, I was a bit apprehensive at first, questioning the possible reasons he would have for wanting to learn to use one. But how could I say no to the prospect of him buying me lunch _and _a box of donuts afterwards? So, I let him borrow my gun, a fair amount of spare ammunition, and even my old hip holster used back when I wore the red coat. I had almost expected him to be a natural, with the way he carried the look of a typical gunslinger, holster perched precariously on his slim hips. Now, seeing the way he fires, the gun nearly flinging him back into the dusty earth every time he uses it, I'm definitely reconsidering my initial assumptions.

"Let's move forward a bit," he finally says, after firing off five rounds and only succeeding in chipping the concrete blocks or missing entirely. I gather up the spare magazines for the gun, the two extra bottles, and our canteen of water and follow him across the dry earth.

Looking back on the town which wavers like a mirage in the heat of the day, I know I shouldn't be thinking about Knives, but I am. I hope he's okay.

"Is this a good spot?" I nod in response and place the canteen and magazines on a less sandy patch of the ground and sit down next to them, releasing another button at the top of my shirt. Peering up at the suns, I realize that it's very near the middle of the day. I could have already known that by the telltale sign of hunger that causes my stomach to growl. Nicholai continues his practice, aiming the gun is his slightly wavering hand and sighting along the barrel to the target - an old bottle of tequila that we dug out of a trash bin at the back of our hotel and bar.

He fires and misses, and then drops the gun to his side, letting out an exasperated sigh. His hand rakes through his bangs in frustration. "What am I doing wrong, Vash?"

I pick up the canteen of water and twist open the cap, shrugging my shoulders. "I've never taught someone how to shoot, before. I've been doing it for so long, it kind of comes naturally to me. I may be missing something in your teachings." I take a drink of the water.

"You're so reassuring." He switches the gun from his left hand to his right and shakes it out. "Damn, that thing's heavy."

"Arm getting tired?" I hold the canteen of water out for him and wipe my mouth. He takes it from me, nodding, and then drinks heartily. I watch as his adam's apple bobs up and down while he swallows and empties the canteen, and then stare at him, frowning a bit. "You drank all the water."

"I was thirsty." He tosses the empty container to the ground near me as my shoulders slump.

"Now that we're out of _water_, I think it's about time we go back. Try a few more times, but use your other hand."

"But I'm left-handed."

I shrug. "Try anyway. You never know."

He shrugs too, one eyebrow twitching upwards. "Okay," he says, raising the gun back to sight along it. His right hand is even more shaky than his left, but he quickly fires a shot to finish off the round and, much to my astonishment, causes a bottle to shatter in its place.

I jump to my feet and smile. "Good shot!" He smirks at me, nodding. "See, I knew you could do it. Try again." I toss him one of the magazines, and he drops the empty shells onto the ground before reloading, and then aims and fires. My bottom lip pouts a bit in confusion. "You missed."

"No shit."

"Try both hands again."

He does so, and misses horribly with all of the five shots. "Well, damn. Maybe that one bottle was a fluke."

"Maybe." I trail off, brushing the sand from the back of my pants and grabbing up the water bottle and the last magazine. I decide to simply leave the bottles out there, knowing Nicholai will probably want to come back after we have lunch. "Ready to go back in?"

"Not quite yet. Show me one more time." I sigh to myself and walk to him, taking the gun and handing him the canteen. As I reload it, he takes the liberty of draining whatever remnants of water there may have been inside the bottle, holding it upside down over his mouth.

Smirking, I put up quite a show in my preparations, licking my finger and holding it up in the air to test the non-existent wind, tilting my head from the left to the right, crouching down and lining up the shot. Nicholai snorts behind me. "Really cute, Vash."

I nod, straighten myself out, turn around, and begin to walk, holding the gun up against my forehead. After ten steps, I whip myself around and fire off four shots so quickly that it sounds like one, and watch as the four remaining bottles shatter and fall to the ground in pieces. I smile smugly as Nicholai frowns, and then walk to him and place the gun back in his hip holster, allowing my hand to linger for a moment on his outer thigh. "Don't worry, Nicky. You'll get the hang of it."

He nods in acceptance of that fact which may or may not be a true, and I put an arm around his shoulder, steering him back towards the town and looking forward to a nice lunch and an even nicer box of donuts. "We can come out here again after lunch, right?"

"Sure." I take the opportunity, what with no people around or any chance of them coming around, to pull him closer, lowering the arm on his shoulders to his waist. He smiles and rests his head against mine. It's a bit awkward, walking so closely, and, not to mention, it feels a bit sticky, what with the dry heat that has caused us both to build up a substantial amount of sweat. Yet, I bear all of the little dilemmas, instead focusing on how nice it feels to be in his arms and so close to him. It shouldn't feel this good just to be around someone. It shouldn't, but it does. I smile as he gives a loving but rough caress to my arm. I think it's about time I stop fooling myself about this, believing the time is nearing that I tell him.

"Something wrong, Vash?"

I quickly shake my head, smiling a bit. "Not a thing." I hadn't even noticed that we'd arrived at the outskirts of the town. Looking back over Nicholai's shoulder, I realize that we've already passed two buildings, and I raise my eyebrows. How the hell did I fail to notice that? I pull away from Nicholai just a bit and give a leisurely stretch as our feet begin to reach the cobblestone roads of the inner city. "Where do you feel like eating, Vash?"

Taking a moment to think this over, I realize that we've been eating at the bar since we arrived here, and I have no idea of any restaurants. I frown at this. "Wherever you want to, I guess."

"There's a nice-looking place over there." He points to one of the buildings up ahead and to the left of us. There are tables set out under an extended sunroof at the front of the structure, and a few people are already dining upon their meals there. I smile just a bit and nod to the proposition.

He grabs my hand and holds it within his own as we walk towards the restaurant as the tune of a lone guitar begins to enter my ears from inside the building. At least they have music. A few of the people eating their lunches raise their heads to look at us. I smile and wave my free hand, knowing that they're staring at Nicholai's hand on mine. It doesn't bother me. At least, that's what I tell myself as we weave through the tables to the entrance. Nicholai pushes open the door and pulls me inside, away from the curious stares, and I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been withholding. Then, when I look up, I hold my breath again. The restaurant is packed, and it feels like everyone's staring at us, even though there's only one small child in a corner, perched backwards on his seat, that is actually looking. I try to slowly slide my hand out of his, and he turns his head to frown at me. "Now I know something's wrong."

I smirk nervously. "People were staring at us outside."

"They were probably just wondering what a good-looking guy like you was doing with someone like me. They're jealous." He gives me a small smile, and I can't help but smirk back at him. Once again, life is so simple for him. He retakes my hand as a waitress dressed in a fairly outlandish uniform with an overly puffy and short skirt comes to lead us to a free table along the wall. We release each others' hands as we sit. For such a small town, the restaurant certainly seems to be doing well. It almost seems out of place.

The waitress hands us our menus and asks if we'd like anything to drink. Nicholai and I both order a simple glass of iced tea. After she's gone, Nicholai places the menu on the table and holds out his hand for mine. I look around questioningly and then place my hand in his. He looks around for a moment, stretching to see all around us, then turns back to me, smiling. "See? Nobody's staring."

"Yeah, yeah... but they were. It just makes me nervous."

"Why's that?"

I take a serious moment to think about this, and then lean toward him inconspicuously, my eyes downcast as I pick at the corner of the menu. "Well, back when I was 'Vash the Stampede,' people stared at me a lot, like I was some kind of evil incarnate. It's nice to finally be forgotten and have a low profile."

Nicholai stares at me plainly a moment, before frowning at me and tilting his head. "You think it's nice to be forgotten?"

Without hesitation, I say, "Yes."

"Being forgotten doesn't feel good, Vash. It makes you feel like you never existed, to begin with."

"...I never thought about it that way."

He leans back in his seat, releasing my hand to cross his arms. "Well, try thinking about it this way: You remember Nicholas Wolfwood, don't you?"

I swallow thickly. "Yes. I remember him very well."

"Does anyone else remember him?"

"...my brother, Knives."

"Anyone else?"

"No." I think I can already guess where this is headed.

"Then, if you and your brother ever forget him, it will be as if he never existed. No one will remember him, and he'll be erased from peoples' memories, so what difference will it ever make to anyone? If your family is ever taken away, and your family is all you ever had, then you cease to exist in your own time, because the only people who knew you and cared for you are gone. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Yes. Being forgotten is not a good thing." I frown and lower my head, thinking that over. He's right. Nicholas is practically non-existent to others, now. I'm one of the only people in the world who actually knew him.

"Don't get depressed over it." He smiles warmly at me, but I can see through his mask. I know that he was talking about himself when he mentioned his family being taken away. I know that he's hurting, just remembering it. "People haven't forgotten you, especially not as easily as you think."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... watch this." Nicholai stands up from his chair, picking up a glass and a fork. He taps the two together, getting many of the restaurant's patrons' attentions. "Can I have your attention, please?" he asks over the crowd. I nervously glance around, realizing that the whole room has gone quiet and that they're all staring at the two of us, and my eyes widen.

My cheeks heat up as I grab at Nicholai's shirt, trying to pull him back into his seat. "Please sit down, Nicholai," I practically hiss at him.

"Does everyone here remember the legend of Vash the Stampede?"

For a moment, the place remains utterly still and completely quiet. A glass shatters on the floor somewhere around us, which causes the whole place to erupt in a furious chatter. A woman quickly calls for her bill, so that she can leave. One family tells their children to ignore Nicholai and finish eating. I hear a few people begin to talk about the giant man in the coat the color of blood and a heart as cold as ice, and my face falls onto the table. I feel a bit better, though, when Nicholai corrects them all. "Does anyone here actually know Vash the Stampede?"

The room goes quiet again and Nicholai sits down. I notice a smug smile on his face as I raise my head from the table. "How could you do something like that?"

"I just wanted to prove that you'll never be forgotten, even after your death."

I nearly roll my eyes at that, looking away from him and wiping over my face with my hand in exasperation. I turn back to glare at him. "Nicholai, that was embarrassing!"

He lifts an eyebrow and shrugs, before leaning forward and saying in a whisper, "Imagine what they would have done, if I had told them all that you were Vash the Stampede."

"Probably ran away screaming." I smile and shake my head as the waitress returns to take our orders.

"Exactly."

A/N: Anyone wondering what a "feel," is? You know, "fifty feel away," and such? Check the first episode of Trigun.


	11. And all of the things long forgotten wil...

I just want to give a special thank you to Katsa5, Euce, Bloodraevyn, and Xara V'n'D, and even everyone else who has ever reviewed any of my stories. You guys keep me going. Without such great feedback, this story would be even more slow in coming. So, I give all of you a pixel hug ::hugs:: Thanks, guys.

BTW, this has some stuff from the manga, Trigun Maximum, where Vash's hair was changing to black. Failed to mention previously that his hair was _dyed_ blonde, and no longer naturally that color.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer: Story mine. Series, not mine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, this circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Tell me once more why we're here?" I may not sunburn, but I do sweat, and Nicholai now seems to greatly enjoy watching my clothes gather the perspiration coming from my body due to the blazing heat of the double suns. It's a bit furtive, the reasons as to why we had to come out here once again, and I have to sit down, in the dirt, with no water, watching him fire off my gun, wasting my bullets, and never hitting a single bottle. I'm almost out of ammunition... again.

"Because I want to get this right as soon as possible." Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? He says it as if it's the most conspicuous thing in the world, like I should know the rationale behind his dragging my enervated ass out here. I want a nap. I'm getting cranky.

I mentally castigate myself, then, trying to clear all of the adverse thoughts out of my head that are, more than likely, brought on by the heat and possibly the fact that Nicholai's ignoring me. I never thought I'd be invidious of my own revolver. It's almost embarrassing.

"Heh... of course." I stare longingly into the vacuous canteen, holding it above my head. "If we don't go back soon, we're going to run out of something."

That unquestionably catches him off-guard. He cants his head just enough to give me a quizzical look, one eyebrow elevated. It didn't make much sense to me, either, after I said it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're either going to run out of ammunition, or the water in our bodies. I must have sweat off at least five dallons, by now."

He awards me an unpretentious smirk, then, shrugging and turning back to his shooting. His hand is not so vacillating as it was before. "I think I'll wait 'til we run out of bullets."

I sigh and drop my head in exasperation, then raise it once more to glower towards the back of his head. "Be serious, Nicholai. You may be having fun, but I'm the one sitting on my ass doing nothing."

Nicholai drops the gun to his side then, raking his free hand through his hair and wiping a bit of the perspiration from his brow. "Okay, okay. One more hour, and I'll take you out to dinner."

This is getting vexatious. Instead of caring about the fact that I'm about to go out of my mind due to heat and tedium, he offers to buy me dinner, as if I would really want to go out to dinner after the little stunt he performed at lunch. "No thanks," I say, standing up and winding the strap of the water decanter around my fist. "I'm heading back."

He contiguously turns, giving me an inquisitorial look. Admittedly, I should be more honest about the fact that I'm jealous of the attentions he's paying to my revolver, but I would just sound nonsensical. I'm hot and sweaty, tired, thirsty, worried about my brother, and jealous of my gun. What a great combination. "What do you mean, you're heading back?"

I commence walking back towards the town, dragging my feet through the dirt with each step. "I mean, I'm going back to the bar, getting a drink, and then taking a well-deserved cold shower."

I can hear him take a few expeditious steps to catch up to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder and walks abreast of me. "I'm sorry I haven't been paying attention to you. I'll go back, too."

Well, at least he didn't take forever to figure out how I feel. He already realizes that I'm lonely, so I grin smugly at him, tilting my head. I think he just merited back everything that was taken away by this day. "It's okay, Nicholai. You stay out here and finish up. I'll meet you back at the room later." In all honesty, we've practically been joined at the hip since we met. I don't think some time to ourselves could do much damage, and I'm really looking forward to that shower.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. It's fine."

"I won't be too long. I promise." He leans forward, placing a light kiss on my forehead, even though it's moist with sweat, and then moves down to my lips. I experience the taste of salt as I kiss him, but it's still just as sweet as it's always been. Oh, yes. He has doubtlessly earned back everything that was taken away.

I hold fast to him for a moment, noticing that the warmth he gives off can still be pleasant, even in the heat of the day. It's a different kind of warmth, a radiance of kindness and caring that I think I could never tire of. "I'll see you in a while," I utter, finally forcing myself to step away from him, still dragging my feet back towards the town.

It soothes me to think that Nicholai was so willing to come back, just to satiate me, to keep me happy. It was an admirable gesture, but in the end, pointless. Just like other people, I suppose I require my space, and sometimes those little things that he does can exasperate me. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's a benevolent, caring man. I know that he means well with everything he does, but sometimes, those little things... They can be difficult to get past.

I suddenly don't know why the hell I'm even thinking that. I never cared about the little things before, so what's so different about Nicholai? Perhaps because I care about him so much? No. It can't be that. I care about my brother, probably just as much, and the little things he did never bothered me. Just the big things, like him killing innocent people. That was unmistakably a big thing.

So then... perhaps it's because Nicholai is just so virtuous. There are no big things for me to pother about. Maybe I'm simply one of those people who has to perpetually worry about others, always have something to do, some way to help people. Without having something to fret about when it comes to Nicholai, because he's so impeccable it's infuriating, I have to focus on some fault, just so that I can make myself presume that there is, in some small way, room for me to help him to ameliorate himself.

Sometimes I piss myself off. I hope like hell that's not true. If it is, everyone really was correct in their assumptions that I'm nothing but a damn hypocrite.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Shower retrieved and body refreshed, I decide to make my way outside once more, perhaps allow the children to put me in a strangle-hold. That would actually be enjoyable for me, right now. Sitting in the midst of the slightly bustling crowd of mid-day, when workers are heading back from their lunch breaks and mothers and children are doing their daily shopping, I relax against the bench nestled in the shade of a rather tall tree in the center of town. Looking around at all of the smiling faces, I notice that this city, though small and new, is quickly becoming like the others: peaceful, serene, and prosperous.

"Do you wanna play with us?"

I glance downward to see a small boy, big blue eyes and black hair, staring back up at me. With a contended smile I lean forward, crossing my arms over my knees so that I am at his height. He smiles back at me. "What are we gonna play?"

A few of the other children gather around me, one of them carrying a basketball that is obviously difficult to hold, given her small size. It's larger than her head. "We're gonna play b-ball!" she exclaims happily, dropping said ball from her tiny hands and onto the ground. Another child picks it up and begins dribbling it awkwardly.

"Sure, then!" I say back to them, still smiling as I stand from my seat. They begin to make their way to a makeshift basketball hoop that has been attached to the side of a building. As I move to follow, a hand is suddenly upon my shoulder and I gasp as I am shoved roughly back into my seat on the bench.

Knives leans down next to me, lips nearly grazing my flesh as he whispers into my ear. "No time for playing with brats today, Vash. We need to talk."

I stiffen at his words, wondering exactly what he could be implying and, needless to say, feeling a bit worried. The children, from their place beneath the basketball hoop, glance back at me impatiently. I laugh nervously, informing them to go ahead with their game. A few disappointed sighs are heard before they begin, ignoring me once more.

"What's going on? Is something wrong?"

He slips into the seat next to me, one arm around the back of the bench behind my shoulders, the other dangling carelessly by his side. He stares out into the crowd for a moment, seeming to enjoy the tension he's causing by stalling. "I guess you could say that." Said off-handedly, as if it's not that important. Knives made the statement that he never wanted to see me again. If it was important enough for him to come and seek me out, than it must be a damn big 'something wrong.' I sit patiently with shifty eyes, waiting for him to speak again. "I just heard that there seems to be something wrong with plants all over the world, as of late. Seems they're failing." He turns to me then, looking even more intense than usual, if even possible. "Seems they're _dying_, Vash, and no one can figure out what's wrong."

I take a moment to think about this, let it sink in. Plants are failing. They're dying. The source of energy for the entire populous on this planet is failing. My own species is dying out. I reach up, my hands idly trailing through the long lengths of my blonde hair. The once black hair that has been dyed blonde. I should have known this was coming soon.

One thing that we are certain of is that when our hair turns black, we die. My hair was already changing back when I was traveling around with Meryl and Millie and Wolfwood. I thought I could cover it up, though. Change it back to the original color and forget about it. Sparing myself serious injuries would help to conserve the life I have left... and I've lived this long, but you can't live forever. Knives covers his, too. He's had so few injuries, though, he probably has some time left, but... if all of the plants that have never been injured are now failing, we're just screwed. "How many?" I question depressedly, hands now clenched together in fists atop my thighs, still trying to comprehend.

"Hell, _all_ of them are having trouble. The ones in Felnarl and Mei City are already out of commission. Too many failing, not enough workers."

A long moment of silence stretches between us before he finally turns to me, grasping my shoulders and nearly shaking them. "Do you know what this means, Vash!?" He looks angry.

I swallow roughly, attempting to set my gaze on anything but his intense, angered face. "It means that the world is going to be without power. And without power, the water refinement plants won't work, which will leave them without water. And without water, they'll all die."

It was so sudden, I didn't know what happened. Couldn't figure it out until I rested the palm of my hand against my burning cheek. Knives had slapped me... hard. "You're not even considering what this means for us, you dimwit. If the plants are dying, that means we're dying, too!"  


He's right... I hadn't thought of that. I suppose I deserved the rather rough slap against my face. "We need to go to Felnarl. There's a sand steamer leaving in a few minutes." Suddenly confused, I stare up at him, eyes wide as I try to blink away the tears that threaten to spill. Not just because of the emotional and physical pain I feel every time he slaps me, but because now I have to worry about the entire population of the planet. Why do these things always happen to me? I thought maybe I could be happy with Nicholai, now; live a small life and just be content. Though, sometimes it seems like the whole world is out to get me.

"Why do we need to go to Felnarl?"

"Because, you idiot! Maybe we can find out what's happening with all of the plants."

I guess I'm not thinking too clearly right now. Too many things suddenly piled into my mind. Then, it hits me. I can't go to Felnarl right now. I can't just leave Nicholai behind, like that, with no way to know where I am. "You go on ahead," I say despondently, glancing towards the ground nervously. I know he won't like it, leaving me behind, but... "I'll catch up with you."

He snarls at me, bearing vicious teeth in my face. "Vash, what has gotten into you, lately? First you try to beat the shit out of me, then that psycho friend of yours shoots me, and now you're telling me that you'd rather stay here with that moron than go and save your own fucking life. Stop being so brainless for once and look at your options, here."

I sigh dejectedly, nearly crying. He just doesn't understand. Sometimes I wonder if I do, myself. Then, it suddenly hits me, and I perceive my intentions. I realize the reasons that I want to stay here. I realize the reasons that I'd give up a chance at my own life in order to spend more time with him, and not run off and leave him wondering about my safety.

I love him.

I smile to myself, nearly laughing. It's been so obvious. It's been right in front of me the whole damn time, and I was too blind or stupid to see it. I was too scared to look into the face of the future and realize that even if I live forever, I have no future without him and without love. It's almost infuriating that it's gotten away from me. It's also laughable. Who would have thought that I was so idiotic?

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

I sober up quickly, standing and taking a few steps away from him to distance us. I know he's not going to like what he has to hear, but he never likes anything I say, anyway. "Knives, you may not understand this, and you may not even care, but I love Nicholai and I can't just leave him behind like that. So go to Felnarl and I promise I won't be far behind."

I can see that I upset him, so turning around and quietly walking away is the smartest thing I can do. I shove my hands into my pockets and kick at the rocks scattered here and there on the ground, still smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

I glance at him over my shoulder and then turn fully around when I see the look on his face. He's not mad, which is surprising in itself, but the _look_ he's giving me is so hard to discern that I'm stunned. "What do you mean?"

Then I hear his voice; shaky and uncertain, scared almost. "Why didn't you tell me sooner that this wasn't just some disgusting sexual game with a human?" I realize then that he is giving me a look of regret, guilt, possibly shame. Throw a little bit of sadness in there and you may be able to get the jest of what his eyes are conveying.

I quickly return to the bench and sit down beside him, the happiness of finally realizing my feelings for Nicholai depleted. "I thought you already knew that I'm not like you. I don't see the huge rift between the plants and the humans."

"I knew that. I just never realized that someone like you would fall in love with one of them. I thought you were smarter than that."

I shake my head, nearly sighing. Yet, I can't argue with him. It would just make things worse if I got defensive. "Maybe I am stupid after all. I mean, Nicholai will grow older and die just like all of the others, but... it really doesn't matter now, does it?"

"It's not that, Vash. I'd just always hoped that I would be enough to keep you happy."

"Knives, abusing me does not keep me happy. You're my brother and all I want is your acceptance."

"You've always wanted to replace me with one of them."

A bit unexpected, that. I immediately straighten up, realizing for the first time that he's jealous. My own invincible, cruel, over-protective and possessive brother is jealous. "I could never replace you!" I calm myself, lowering my voice from the previous near-shout. "Knives, you'll always be my brother, and I'll love you because of that, but people are capable of things other than just brotherly love. There's romantic love and fatherly love, even love of a favorite food."

"I didn't want a lecture."

"I know. I just want you to understand that just because I find happiness in another doesn't mean that I'll toss you aside, nor would I give up him for you."

He quickly stands and glares down at me a moment before turning around, fists clenched. I can tell that his teeth are gritted when he says, "Fine. You... get your things together, including that psychotic boyfriend of yours, and then meet me in Felnarl. Maybe I can get him to lift heavy boxes or something so that he's not in my hair all the time."

I smile and quickly nod. "Okay, I'll see you as soon as possible." He walks away then, never once glancing back, and I can't wipe the smile off of my face. I think that for once I've gotten through to him and just maybe we've reached a new understanding. It's wonderful, the way that just when you think it will never get any better, he does things like this, finally confessing the way that he feels, and that giant barrier he'd had up suddenly comes crumbling down around his feet. I smile to myself, standing just before he rounds the corner into a nearby alleyway. "I love you, Knives!"

His muscles visibly tense, but he doesn't turn around. Simply stands there for a moment, staring into space. "Yeah, yeah... I love you, too." And then he's gone and I can's stop smiling.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The entire room was thick with the smell of gunpowder and oil and dust. It was a small building, closeted in between others near the outskirts of the town. I went in on a whim and found what I'd been looking for. Now, one in each hand, I carry two .45 auto handguns. Black with chrome trimming added for pure decoration and pleasing appearance.

As I make my way to the area thought to be occupied by Nicholai, though, I find that he is missing. All of the bottles lie broken on the ground, obviously shot to pieces by him. I look around in confusion for a moment, totally at a loss.

That's when I see the footprints of a thomas leading out into the sandy desert areas. I glance up into the sky, wondering why all the bad things happen to me. My answer is the loud booming sound of the sand steamer taking off from the town behind me.


	12. And we'll be who we once were, somewhere...

A/N: Extra thanks to Xara and Verdi. You guys are simply the greatest. No questions.

=) There is now ART for "Somewhere in Time" right here: http://anycities.com/gwings/art/trigun

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer:

Kuroneko: Nya!!

Hear that, people? It's nya mine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, this circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I know it's probably the wrong thing to do. I know that I should be going to Knives and trying to figure out what's happening with all of the plants. I know that I shouldn't be out here in the middle of nowhere, not having any idea how much longer I may live. I also know that I hate riding thomases and always have.

            Yet, here I am in the middle of the desert in a far stretch of vast nothingness between Maya and December, reaching for something that I could very well fail to attain. My chest constricts a bit at the thought (at least I think it's due to a thought like that) and I curl in on myself. I'd always been fairly semi-anxious to die before now. Holding my life as one of the lesser values of my existence, I'd nearly expected it. Somehow I've lived this long, though; long enough to see the human race go from dust bowl to prosperous and green, and now I'm not sure if I'm ready to die. Pathetic.

            I tighten the large brown cloak-like span of fabric hastily thrown about myself earlier as a large gust of wind blows sand into my face. I mentally thank the fact that I still have a reliable pair of sunglasses, similar to the ones worn at previous times in my life, as the sand patters against the lenses. Looking up, I see that the sky has darkened, heavy, fat, and ominous clouds hovering close to the planet. I've seen a storm before; rain and lightning everywhere, wild winds. It was not fun. The storms on this planet get bad, to say the least. I guess that's why I'm pushing my thomas to go faster than she is at the moment. I don't want to be caught outside in it.

            I wonder why Nicholai left like that. What reason could he have to go to December, and not tell me about it? I know that it was his hometown, so it's fitting to believe that he should want to return at some point, but why did it have to be now?  So many things are happening, all at once.  It's as if my world, once peaceful and serene after returning to my brother's side, has been thrown into chaos once again, and all over him.  A normal person would probably wonder why the hell they're staying by him.  Why they're putting their potential for being content on the line in exchange for being truly happy.  Maybe I should do the same, but I can't.  I'm not the kind of person to question the reasons as to why I'm allowed instances of bliss.

            Glancing at the horizon, I notice something strange ahead of me. It looks like... like... I don't know what it looks like. I squint, trying futilely to look closer, seeing that it appears to be a darker, blurred area. I try to figure out what this could mean as it quickly comes towards me.

            Then, I begin to hear a loud whirring sound, almost like a sand steamer's engines warming up. A startlingly powerful gust of wind hits me, forcing me back just a bit as my thomas stumbles. Then, the darkened, blurred area approaches. "Crap..."

            Painful bouts of stinging rain begin to rapidly patter against me and I pull the cloak tighter, sighing to myself. I guess I'm caught in the storm after all. Ever since our water-refineries have been around, the storms have been more frequent. This planet's weather patterns don't seem to be accustomed to storms, though, so they're usually fairly harsh.  I guess there's nothing that can be done about it now, other than to deal with it.

            Another sharp gust of wind hits me from the side, once again throwing my thomas off-balance. I hold the reins with one hand and the neck of my cloak with the other, tightening my legs around the creature.  This is just another of those things that has been piled on top of everything.  I go to find Nicholai, and I find a storm.  I could sit here and question it for a while, but that wouldn't get me anywhere, so I continue on, ignoring the fact that the world is out to get me.

            For a long while, it carries on like that, my thomas making its way through the sand turned mud, darkened due to the rain as the wind decidedly continues to try to forcibly remove me from the animal. The foul stench of wet fur envelopes me, blocking out whatever other smells may be around, if any.

            Then, I glance towards the horizon ahead, my back stiffening in surprise. Trees. I mentally rejoice, grinning at the fact that where there are trees, there is usually a town. December must not be far off.  I hadn't realized I'd been riding that long.

            Sure enough, a few moments later I see the jutting forms of buildings behind the few sparse trees. I give the smelly thomas a slight nudge in the side, encouraging her to speed up a bit, which she does, but only after letting out small grunt of seeming annoyance. "We'll be there soon, girl." I say reassuringly, giving her a light pat on the neck.  She's obviously not as excited about it as I am.  Thomases rented from stables don't tend care just where you're headed.  They just want their food and to get the reins out of their mouths.

            A quick bolt of lightning flashes directly above me, setting alight the horizon for a split second, a large, booming crash of thunder directly following. I jump a bit at the noise, tightening the cloak a bit and mentally willing the thomas to go faster. When the lightning starts is when the storms tend to get worse.

            Finally, after nearly twenty large, loud bolts of lightning and a few good nudges in the ribs, my thomas makes her way into the town. I immediately steer her towards the thomas stable, near the outskirts. I jump off, shaking my cloak to get as much water off as I can before wrapping her reins around the tying posts.  Walking up the steps, I notice my shoes, once a pristine, shined black, are caked in mud. The metal hinges of the door creak as I open it, a bit of cool wind and the smell of cigarettes being the first thing to greet me.  A tall, balding man sits in a relaxed position behind a large desk, reading a magazine. "Some weather out there, huh?" he asks, barely glancing up.

            "Yeah, I guess so. I've got a thomas outside. Could you hold her for me?"  I step up to the counter, rubbing my right arm through the cloak for a bit more warmth.

            "Sure thing." He closes the magazine and picks up a pencil. "Name?"

            "Vash."

            He scribbles it down in the book, not even bothering to say, "Vash? As in, Vash the Stampede?" I'm a bit grateful. "It's twenty double dollars a day."

            "I'll probably only need to keep her here for a day," I utter as he eyes the twenty double dollars curiously.  I bite the inside of my lip a moment, thinking. Then, I mentally shrug, throwing caution to the wind. "I don't suppose you're holding a thomas for a man named Nicholai, are you?"

            He raises his eyebrows a moment and then frowns, nodding slowly. "Nicholai Dvorak?"

            I nod back.

            "Yeah, we're holding that guy's thomas. I never expected to see Nicholai back here." He puts my money in the cash register, quickly closing it up afterwards. He points to the book of names and assigned stable numbers in front of him, Nicholai's name, specifically, with the butt of his pencil. I lean over and glance at it.

            "What do you mean?" I ask, removing the hood of the cloak from my head and taking off my sunglasses.

            "That guy Nicholai got involved in some trouble in this town a couple years back. From what I heard, his parents were killed."  He scratches at his eyebrow nervously, glancing around, and then leans forward just a bit, as if he is about to tell me some sort of long-kept family secret.  "They say it's because he borrowed money and couldn't pay it back.  Poor kid."

            I give him a scrutinizing look, lips parted just a bit as I try to comprehend this man's words. There's no way they're true.  Nicholai just doesn't seem to be that kind of person. I frown a bit, glancing around. "His parents were killed?"

            "Yup. Murdered right in front of him when he was only seventeen."

            "Oh shit..." I breathe lightly, my throat tightening as a slight feeling of panic washes over me.  Things begin to fall into place as reason and deduction takes its place in my brain.  "How long ago did he arrive?"

            "Only about thirty minutes before you," he answers calmly, either oblivious or uncaring about my state of alarm.

            "Do you have any idea where he may be?"

            "Can't be sure, but he might be back at his family's old restaurant. It's just down the street, there." He points to his left. "Four buildings."

            I nod and utter a quick thank you before I run from the building and out into the rain, which has increased exponentially. Not even bothering to replace the hood over my head, I begin a run down the deserted road, my feet splashing in puddles of murky waters as lightning crashes overhead. I come to the fourth building, my boots sliding as I try to stop, causing me to lose my balance and fall sideways into the mud.  Damn.  That's all I needed right now.  Pulling myself to my feet, I stumble up onto the porch of the building and through the front doors. The restaurant now seems to be a tavern, with a few casual drinkers here and there and a large man behind the bar.

            Not even caring about what an idiot I may appear to be, or the fact that I'm dripping large amounts of water and mud all over the floor, I rush to the bar, leaning against it with my hands. "Have you seen Nicholai?"

            The bartender gives me a curious look, slowly cleaning a glass with the rag in his hand. "Nicky? Yeah, he was here. Left a few minutes ago."

            "Do you know where he went?"

            "Nope." He turns away from me, crouching down below the counter as I frown. This is not going well.  I don't know what I'd expected to find out by coming here, but this was definitely not it.  I never imagined Nicholai to be one to hold a grudge against others, but the fact that his parents were killed and he was so anxious to learn to shoot properly are making me believe the worst.  Either he's going to kill himself, which is highly unlikely, or he's going to get revenge.

            I quickly turn from the counter and run from the building, glancing to the left and right and hoping beyond hope that I see him somewhere. As was expected, I don't see him.  "Nicholai?!"

            My voice echos through the streets as lightning flashes overhead yet again. I begin a quick jog down the road, pulling the rain-soaked and heavy cloak off and throwing it aside into a puddle. My voice sounds strained as I call out to him again, getting no reply. There are too many streets, too many buildings... 

I will my legs to go faster, despite the fact that my shoes are sinking into the sand with each step and giving me hardly any footing. My breathing becomes ragged, panic laced in with each gasp. After a fair amount of running, I come to what appears to be the center of town. I turn in a slow circle, eyes squinting and peering down every alleyway and street, looking for him in what appears to be a futile chase. "Nicholai!"

            I hear a loud booming sound and freeze in my spot, trying to convince myself that it was thunder and nothing more.

            Swallowing so roughly that I can hear it in my own ears, I close my eyes, knowing that I'm lying to myself. I know what my own gun sounds like when fired. I turn around and slowly walk in the direction of the sound, eyes wanting to close as water drips from my eyelashes.

            I turn into the alleyway that I'm certain the gunshot originated from, immediately ceasing my steps. Nicholai stands not far away above a man who is on the ground, a large pool of red liquid flowing underneath him. The gun is lowered to his side, arm hanging limply as water beads down the length of the silver firearm. My mouth falls open as I take in a shaky breath and my vision blurs.  I close my eyes for a moment, tears falling that could easily be blamed on the rain. I was too late.

            Nicholai, apparently seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, glances over at me, raising the gun just a bit.  He holds it in the palm of his hand, staring at it, and then back at me.  "Vash? What are you doing here?"  His voice is monotonous and not a bit of emotion shows on his face.  For a moment, I simply stare at the man lying dead on the ground, jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth begin to ache, tears slowly flowing from my eyes.

            I look away for a moment and then turn back to Nicholai, slowly pulling myself to my feet.  I put my hand on my forehead, feeling an intense ache due to unknown sources, before letting out a choked, bitter laugh that is truly inappropriate.  I guess I just can't believe he would do something like that. "Why did you kill him?"

            "I..."

            "How could you do that?" I straighten up, ceasing the laughing and giving him one of my most intense looks. The lightning crashes overhead, and I see his face clearly for a moment. Eyebrows raised slightly and mouth set in a firm, thin line, I wonder what could possibly be going through his mind.

            When he doesn't answer, I take a few steps towards him, hand dragging along the wall to my left to keep myself steady. I feel strangely weak. "I thought you were such a good person… but you lied to me.  You've been lying to me this whole time, haven't you?"

            "He killed my parents. He deserved it."  Once such an erotic mix of slight accent and husky masculinity, his voice remains calm and flat.  I shake my head at him, trying to make myself believe that this is one really, _really_ bad dream.

            "That doesn't matter. No one ever gave you the right to kill anyone."  My voice is as calm as his, though it has no right to be.  I should be angry, but I'm not.  Instead, decisions are going on in my mind, theories and thoughts being put into action.  I slowly close the distance between us, immediately taking the gun from his slacked grip.  He glances away, not seeming to care.

I step away from him, shaking my head in disbelief that I was such a fool. Maybe Knives was right.  Maybe humans are innately evil, selfish, deluded creatures, each one of them believing that they have special rights pertaining only to them.  I suppose there is no good without evil, just as there is no light without dark, but why does the bad always outweigh the good?  "I don't ever want to see you again, Nicholai."

            He grabs onto the front of my shirt, holding me from leaving. His voice finally conveys emotion as he says, "No, you can't do that to me…"

            I shake my head once more, grabbing onto his wrist and easily pulling it free from my shirt.  Holding it back, I take another step away from him.  "Yes I can, Nicholai.  There are too many things going on right now for me to pile this on top."

            "At least give me a chance to explain, or something.  Those people are…"

            "I don't want to hear it!  Just…" I do one of the worst things I've done in a long time.  Something I swore I would never do unless absolutely necessary.  I raise the gun, finger on the trigger, and aim at him.  "Just get the hell away from me!"  the gun shakes, more than likely due to anger, as he stares at it, defeated and disbelieving.

            "Are you really so angry… that you would shoot me?"  He runs his hand through his hair, pulling the damp strands back away from his face and revealing those eyes that I once thought so beautiful.

            Unwavering, I keep the gun poised.  "I'm not sure.  Would you like to test me and see?"  I know it's not true.  I could never shoot him, no matter what he's done.  He doesn't know that though, and right now the only thing I know is that I want him away from me.

            Without a word, he turns around, glancing once more at the man's body before slowly walking towards the exit at the other end of the alley.  I stand there, watching him go.  When he is gone, I lower the gun, still staring at where he was, the empty space of darkness.  Swallowing again, I give up the foolish act and fall to my knees, slamming my forearms into the muddy ground and leaning forward, gritting my teeth against the tears that are the only constant in my life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            The sky has returned to its pleasant blue this morning.  The clouds have dispersed.  The dark afternoon gives way to a cheerful morning… or as cheerful as it could be for the proverbial clouds hanging over my head right now.  I drag myself from the small bed in the hotel room, glancing at the window and the quiet streets of the town of December.  As I stretch, trying to wake myself up and causing a few of the bones in my back to pop loudly, I try to forget yesterday's unpleasant happenings.  So different than today, it would almost seem a dream, were I not remembering it so clearly.

            The newspaper speaks of the murder of one, "Justin Marks," a businessman with no known relatives.  The local church will hold a small ceremony in two days in remembrance.  I wish that I could go.  My ticket for the sand steamer boasts of first class lodgings for the trip to Felnarl that I hardly think I deserve or need.  I could just as easily be tucked away in steerage, lost and forgotten and ignored by other passengers.  The sun shines in through the window and ricochets off of my gun on the table, brighter than the two .45 autos lying next to it, and casts a glare into my eyes.  I stare back at it before blinking and looking away, rubbing at my eyes.

            So many things were ruined by yesterday.  I never got to give him the guns, picked out just for him and so similar to Wolfwood's.  I never got to tell him goodbye, that I have to go find out why I'm due to die soon.  I never got to tell him how I feel.

            I guess it's all for the best.  I'm almost certain I don't feel about him that way, anymore, anyway.

            Sighing to myself as I so often do these days, I begin to get dressed and ready to leave on the sand steamer to Felnarl that will be taking off in a little over an hour.

Don't get angry with me for this chapter.  ;_;  Trust me… it has a plot, so I DO know what I'm doing… I think.  =3


	13. When the sorrows pass to memory

Forgot to mention in the previous chapter that I got my laptop back.  =)  Marin is a Happy Author now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers:  Happy Author does not own these things.  Happy Author owns nothing except for her own insanity.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.

Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.

Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Knives looks at me as if he is totally confused and utterly surprised.  I guess he has every reason to be.  What was expected to take a few days has taken only one, and I'm already at the door to his hotel room, laying claim to nothing but the clothes on my back and the downcast, shadowed look upon my face.  "Is something wrong?"

Not like him to be worried.  I step past him through the doorway and into the room, immediately going to the only bed and lying down on it.  I take the three guns off of my person and place them on the table beside the bed before curling in on myself, wrapping long limbs around long limbs.  The headache that had shown up yesterday has resumed its pulsing pain, and added to the fact that I didn't get a good night's sleep and haven't eaten yet, I'm not feeling all that well.  Not to mention that I'm still somewhat caked with mud from head to toe.

Knives stands over the bed, giving me one of his common, "you're pathetic" looks, crossing arms over chest.  I don't bother to disagree.  "What's wrong?"

I shift around in the bed just a bit, eyes glancing around nervously.  "I just don't feel well."

"You don't look well."

"Thank you."

A moment of silence stretches between us as we stare back at one another, eyes locked.  I finally give up and turn away from him on the bed, switching sides.  When I feel the bed shift a bit beside me, I sigh, knowing that Knives isn't going to give up until he finds out what's wrong.  He's sitting down, readying himself to drag it out of me, by force if necessary.  I turn to him, anger sprawled across my face, but I stop when I see a pair of calm blue eyes and a gentle smile.  Face rested against the pillow next to me, his smile softens even more into an expression I never thought Knives capable of as he wraps one arm around my waist and pulls me closer.

"Knives?"

"Vash."

I would ask him what he's doing, but wouldn't it spoil the moment?  Instead I give in, resting my head against his arm and burying my face into his neck.  He rests his chin against my forehead and I feel his breathing, warm and steady, tickling my hair just slightly.  Why is he doing this?  Why is he holding me so close, comforting me, and caring so much?  It's like an alternate dimension, the good turned bad and vice versa.  I close my eyes, inhaling deeply and relaxing as I put one arm around his waist, as well.  We haven't done anything like this since we were children on the Seeds ship.  I'd forgotten how much I'd missed it.

"I'm sorry about what happened, Vash."

I nod just enough for him to feel it, knowing that being this close to him delves deeper than just the physical, and that he's probably already learned about yesterday's happenings.  "I really… really cared about him."

I almost expect him to make some snide comment about him being only a human, or not being worthy of me.  He surprises me, though.  "I know."

Once again, he never ceases to amaze me. Knowing when I'm not in the mood for any of his normal antics, he takes care of me instead.  I will never understand how one minute he can seem so cruel, and the next he can be so considerate and kind.  "Was it somehow previously decided that I would have a miserable life, Knives?"

He sighs a bit.  "For someone who once took everything that Rem said to heart, you certainly don't seem to have a single clue what you're talking about."

"What do you mean?"

" 'Your ticket to the future is always blank.' "

The words seem to echo in my mind, almost as if it's the only thing there at present.  How could I once believe the so whole-heartedly when I knew better?  I've seen the workings of life, and how bad things like to pour themselves down when you need it the least.  This is the ultimate evil, though.  My life is coming to an end and I've already dismissed whatever remaining chance of happiness I may have had in a matter of minutes.  "Do you believe that?"

"Despite the fact that a human came up with it, I find myself believing it at times."

I hold him a little tighter, desperate to grasp anything solid, anything that I can count on.  Knives believing Rem's sentiments is something I would never dream of hearing him admit to.  "I understand that he had reasons, but it's not right to kill people.  Even you learned that."

He grunts a bit at my statement before exhaling in what appears to be a sigh of pity.  I used to wonder, back years ago after our big fight with the guns, if perhaps Knives was just biding his time, crouching and planning in dark corners to release his wrath on me and the human race once again.  He didn't though.  He really has changed.  "You didn't shove your ideals on Nicholai like you did with Chapel…"

"Please don't call him that."

"…Wolfwood.  Maybe he had a reason to kill that man, and nothing stood in his way, because he didn't have you there, behind him, constantly nagging and saying that it's wrong."

There should be no good reason.  There should be no excuses.  What he did was wrong, pure and simple.  There are rules set out in every man's life, regardless of anything else, that should never be shunned.  Simple virtues such as not killing or stealing, being kind to one another, helping people out.  "Either way, I don't want to see him again."

He shifts slightly for a moment before speaking.  "I would say that I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm not.  Regardless of anything that happens, I still want you all to myself."

I smile a bit at his words, pulling closer and shutting my eyes.  "You'll always be my brother."  He may have done some horrible things in his life, but I still forgave him… I forgave him, and I love him all the same.  I open my eyes suddenly and pull away from him, sitting upright in bed.  "I made a mistake, Knives!  I made a horrible, horrible mistake!"  I put my hand on my forehead and lean forward a bit, the pain worsening with my shout.

He grabs the back of my shirt, pulling me back down into the bed.  "You should rest," he says simply before throwing his legs over the side and standing.

I lay there reluctantly, tired all the same.  "But you don't understand.  I forgave you for everything you've ever done, and Nicholai…"

"Dammit, Vash… just go to sleep."  He pulls a pillow out from under me and puts it over my head, blocking out the light.  "There's nothing you can do about it right now.  We have work to do when you wake up."

I turn on my side, burying my face in the one pillow beneath my head.  The other slips off and onto the floor as I nod and close my eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somebody is poking me in the ribs.  Somebody…  "Nicholai?"

"You wish.  Get up.  We're going to New Oregon."

I finally open my eyes, greeted by Knives kneeling on the floor next to the bed, gathering up some papers and books.  "What?  What're those?"

He glances at me, then back at the papers, shoving a few into an open book before closing it.  "I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with the plants.  It's hopeless here, though.  She's already dead."

I sit up in the bed, yawning and rubbing my eyes a bit.  "Where're we going?"

"New Oregon."

"Why?"

"Certainly you remember the flying ship?"  I nod.  "It crashed near New Oregon.  If the computers in there are still working, we may be able to find something out."  He shoves the books and papers into a black duffel bag and zips it up before tossing it over his shoulder.  I didn't think Knives would be this adamant or fast moving in his race to save the plants.  Maybe he cares about the future of the planet, after all.

I stretch a bit before putting my feet on the floor, yawning and a bit disoriented.  I then look down at my clothing still caked in mud and sneer.  I need a shower and clean clothes.  "What time is it?"

"Time to get moving.  The sand steamer leaves in ten minutes.  You can take a shower there."

I nod, standing slowly to follow Knives out of the room and down the hall.  He returns the room key at the front desk, dispensing with the small talk, as usual, and walks outside, duffel bag over his shoulder.  I squint a bit as the sunlight of mid afternoon shines into my eyes, cupping my hand at my forehead to shield my eyes.  Above the buildings, not far away, is the outline of the sand steamer.  Knives immediately walks in that direction.  "I just remembered that I never got my thomas back in December."

"Then it's theirs now.  You've got better things to worry about."

"I know, but…" I kick at some of the dirt on the ground as I shuffle my feet, steadily beginning to lag behind as Knives plows through the crowded streets on the way to the sand steamer.  I quicken my pace just a bit to catch up with him, walking by his side and looking at him expectantly.  "Do you think we'll be able to figure out what's wrong with the plants?"

He shrugs a bit, nearly frowning.  "I don't know.  There are hundreds of plant technicians, and they don't have a fucking clue what they're doing.  I think you and I have the best chance."

"What if we can't figure out what's wrong?"

He nearly stops walking, only stalling for a moment in his steps as he looks at me, sneering.  "Don't you have anything better to occupy your mind with, rather than the and of all life on this planet?"

I shake my head as we arrive at the entrance to the sand steamer.  "It's the only thing I want to think about right now."  The line steadily moves forward, and in no time Knives is handing out tickets over as we step into the hulking ship and enter darkened corridors.

"I suppose it's better than you whining about Nicholai's idiocy," he admonishes, navigating his way through the long stretches of hallway and stairs that lead to the first class rooms.  He opens the door to our room and steps inside, immediately taking the bag from his shoulder and placing it on the nearest bed before settling down next to it.  "Go take a shower and do whatever.  I've got things to do."

I nod at him mutely before closing the door behind me and making my way across the room to the bathroom.  I open the door to step inside, but stop, leaning my forehead against the door for a second before glancing back at him.  His face turned down as he reads from one of the many books spread out across the blanket on the bed.  "Knives…?"

He doesn't even bother to look up, eyes rapidly moving left to right as he reads the page at astonishing speeds.  "Hm?"

"I just… wanted to say thank you, for everything."  For caring about me, for being there when I needed him, for adding a sense of reality and something constant other than tears to my life.

He glances up from the book for a moment, a serious and indescribable look on his face, before returning to reading.  "Um… yeah."

I smirk just a bit before moving into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.  I hope I didn't embarrass him or something.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I grin, opening the door to the room as I stick my head through the crack.  Knives doesn't look up, instead choosing to continue on with reading.  I shift the bag around in my hand as I push the door open a bit more and step inside, closing it behind me.  "I got us something to eat."

"Why?"

Shifting the bag once more, I make my way to his bed, sitting down at the foot of it and taking out a wrapped salmon sandwich.  I hold it out for him.  "I thought maybe we could eat while we go over some of this stuff."

He looks at the sandwich and then me before taking it from my hand and unwrapping it.  "What is this?"

"Salmon, mayonnaise, pickles, and cheese on white bread."

"That's disgusting."

"I like it."

"You would probably eat sand roaches, if you had to."

I unwrap my own sandwich, crossing one leg over the other as I pull one of the books into my lap.  "Maybe I would."  I glance down at the cover of the book, which proclaims "Plant Engineering Basics" in bold silver letters on black casing.  I smile at the author's name.  Elizabeth Johannes.  I remember her; the beautiful woman who once begged for my death in Inepril city, whose parents were killed after July city was destroyed.  I never thought she would write a book, though.  She always kept her secrets from others.

I take a bite of the sandwich, not even bothering to swallow before I speak.  "So what have you found out so far?"

He tosses his sandwich aside, turning a page in the book.  "Some stuff I would rather not have known.  And I think we'll find out even more when we get to the ship in New Oregon."

"What kind of stuff?"

He frowns a bit, pointing to a spot in the book before turning it around and handing it to me.  I hold my sandwich with one hand as I take the book with the other and pile it onto the one in my lap, reading the paragraph that he had pointed to out loud.  "Plant – Equipment, including machinery, tools, instruments, and fixtures, and the buildings containing them, necessary for any industrial or manufacturing process.  The plants of these times are encased in glass structures and manufacture electricity for the powering of municipalities.  Though the word, "plant" leads us to believe that they are, in whole, machines, plants are actually living beings, given a name as such in reference to their asexual reproduction abilities and growth due to the synthesis of inorganic substances.  The main computer of each plant, usually located separately from its corresponding unit, controls the delivery of substances needed to spawn new growth upon each plant, referred to as "buds," as with the bud of a flower.  Each bud then forms a separate yet identical living organism, containing maximum power.  This reproduction means that plants are, in a word, inexhaustible."  I glance up at him, eyebrows knit together.  "What does this mean?"

He reaches over and takes the book from my lap, replacing it in his own before picking up the salmon sandwich and chomping out a large bite.  "I guess it means that plants can only reproduce if they're told to."

"But then, how…?"

"How were we born?  I don't know.  That's one thing I'm hoping to find out.  However, considering that we are sentient beings, outside the bulbs, it's likely that whatever is killing the plants won't effect us."

"You're right.  It could be something as simple as the computers that controls them needing some maintenance."  I smile a bit at that, taking another bite of my sandwich as my hopes rise.  If it's true, I'll likely be given more time to fix the things that have happened with Nicholai, and we'll be able to save everyone, while we're at it.

"I think if it were something that simple, it would have already been fixed."  I frown a bit, still chewing as my brain runs in circles, wondering what it should worry about most.

"I thought you believed the human race to be obtuse when it came to the plants?"

"I put a little more faith in them than that, after reading some of these books."

I nod, finding that a bit surprising, and pick up one of the books, opening it up.  "So when we get to New Oregon, then what?"

"Then we go to where the ship crashed, go inside, and get to the main control panel."

"You know that there's a town there now."  The two plants that had remained up and running when the ship crashed into the planet are now used to power the town that has been built around it.

"Actually, the two towns have grown together, since then.  It's all a part of New Oregon, now."

I raise my eyebrows, looking up from the book.  "It is?"

He looks back at me.  "Yes, it is.  You really should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"The last time I went there to get my new arm, they were still separate towns."

"That was at least fifty years ago, Vash," he says, giving me a strange look as if he can't believe what he's hearing.  In truth, I can't believe it myself.  Fifty years?  How is that possible?  Have I really been so thoughtless that I haven't bothered to go back and see the Doc's great-grandson, who made the previous arm for me, or Jessica's great-granddaughter, who looks exactly like her?

"I guess I just… never really thought to go back.  This arm looks and feels real, so I don't think it can get any better."  Maybe there were too many memories floating around there.  Too much time spent with Wolfwood, too many deaths to stay around for long enough.  If you hang out in the graveyards, you're only inviting the ghosts in.

"Well then, I guess that means it's time for another visit."

I finish off my sandwich, wadding up the clear plastic wrapper into a ball and tossing it towards the trashcan in the corner of the room.  It ricochets off and lands on the carpet.  "I guess so."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sky is dark, one blue moon and one red hanging over the town as we make our way off the sand steamer in a jumbled crowd of people.  Street lamps line the rows of buildings, the only light showing at this hour of night.  Cold air hits me, and I shiver a bit, shoving my hands into the pockets of my pants.  Knives leads the way, weaving through the crowd that is steadily dispersing on his way to, what I can guess, is the site of the ship.

I see bulking outcroppings against the horizon that is only slightly less darkened than the star-filled sky.  Framework exposed between layers of metallic casings jutting out and obscuring the sky.  It appears to be even more run-down than before, the effects of time and harsh environment taking its toll on the once fantastic ship, the epitome of lost technology.  What was once a huge, magnificent floating structure is now weatherworn and uninhabitable, the plants being the only living beings residing inside.  Jason, the Doc's great-grandson, is now one of the sole proprietors of the remaining plants inside the ship, and lives no more than twenty feet away.  "Shouldn't we go talk to Jason before we go inside?" I quietly ask, afraid to speak to loudly, should it wake some of the sleeping townspeople.

"Do you really think it's necessary to wake him up for this?"

I glance at his house to the left, and the ship's remnants to the right.  "Yes."

Knives shakes his head at me.  "You do it. I'm going inside."  He continues on his way to the ship, once more adjusting the strap of the duffel bag for easier carrying.  I turn and walk towards Jason's house, grinning and a bit excited.

Making my way up the wooden steps of the front porch, I give up attempting silence, as I'm soon to wake him, anyway, and knock on the door.  After a few moments, I knock again.  The sound of my knuckles hitting the wood echoes around me for a moment before a light scuffling inside the confines of the house is heard.  The door slowly opens, revealing a young man around the age of eighteen, wearing nothing more than a pair of pants.  He scratches at his head, a messy mop of dark brown hair, before looking at me.  "Can I help you?"

"I'm… here to see Jason?"

"He's sleeping."

"It's kind of important."  He steps aside and opens the door fully so that I can make my way inside.  The inner structure is exactly as I remember it, a rustic mix of browns and yellows, neutral tones.  Even the same beige carpet and brown sofa, though both now a bit worn.  The young man retreats into the hallway of the house next to the kitchen as I make myself comfortable on the sofa, glancing around at all of the pieces of furniture with cracks and scratches and the various ceramic items and books lining the wooden shelves.

A moment later, the young man returns, followed by what I can only guess is Jason; graying hair steadily thinning and wearing a pair of striped pajamas, spectacles, and red slippers, he is not what I had imagined.  "Jason?" I ask, standing and turning fully towards him.

"Well, if it isn't Vash the Stampede," he laughs, holding out a rough, calloused hand which I reluctantly take with my own, shaking it.  "It's been a while since I last saw you."

I nod solemnly.  "Nearly fifty years, yes."

"This is my grandson, Tommy."  He gestures to the young man who offers a quick wave and a 'nice to meet you' before retreating once more into the hallway, probably going back to bed.  "So what brings you here, all of a sudden?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall nearby casually.  He may be older, but he's exactly how I remember him, a strange mix of rebellious attitude and conformity.  He's still fairly short, too.

"I guess you've heard about the plants all over Gunsmoke failing."  He nods.  "My brother and I are here to take a look at these, maybe figure out what's going on."

He nods a bit more, uncrossing his arms with a yawn.  "We haven't had any problems with the ones here yet, but we can never be too cautious, right?"  I nod back.  "It's the middle of the night, and you know where everything is, so I'm sure you know what to do.  Stop by again tomorrow, and we'll talk then."

I grin, give him another handshake and a goodbye wave, and then make my way out the door and across the sand strewn with patches of grass that leads to the ship.  As I approach the main opening to the inner structure, Knives appears in front of me, looking grave.  I continue inside, until I'm face to face with him.  He's frowning, apparently not happy with whatever is going on.  "What's wrong?"

He turns around and begins walking down a hallway to the left, the one that leads to the main computer room near the center of the ship.  "Follow me.  I found something that I think you may be interested in."


	14. When the circle is completed

A/N:  In case you can't already tell, this story takes a few vast liberties with the information given in the anime series and the manga.  Just don't look to closely at it, trust that everything I say is true, and forget about the original ideas, and it shouldn't be too hard to believe.  =)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer:  I am not a plant technician, I am not a Trigun historian, and I am not the creator of Trigun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Knives lowers himself into the seat in front of the main computer controls, fingers immediately going to the keyboard to type.  I stand behind him, holding myself up against the back of the chair as I lean in over his shoulder to look at the screen.  Bits and pieces of scrambled, more than likely encoded, pieces of information flash along the screen at incomprehensible speeds, from bottom to top, scrolling.  My eyes dart back and forth as it moves, trying to get as much out of it as I can.  "What're you doing?"  I ask, voice lowered to a whisper, as if whatever he is about to show me is a great secret, and no one must find out that it is being divulged to us.

He doesn't answer, instead typing in a few more commands.  The screen flickers for a moment from white to black.  A room slowly comes into focus, like none I've ever seen before.  It is completely white, and the beings inside are also bedecked in white.  The lights from above nearly cause glares to appear.  It shows a few of them doing various things that are too hard to pinpoint.  They seem to be working upon tedious tasks.  "What is this?"

Knives sits back in the chair, crossing his arms.  "Just wait."

The view quickly shifts to the right, where a small balding man in a gray coat appears, nearly smiling.  "As you can see, the use of genetic engineering is already being put to work to vastly improve the world.  Human beings are one of the largest suppliers of energy and electricity, but we have yet to find a way to harness it.  Therefore, the idea that humans can be engineered into some form of cataleptic being that will provide nearly limitless production is not that far from our grasp.  This is referred to as the "Plant Project."  The screen fades to black.

"What the hell was that?"

Knives shifts uncomfortably in his chair and then looks up at me, frowning.  "I think you know what it means."

I shake my head, disbelieving, eyebrows knit together in confusion and not able to comprehend that anything like this can be real.  "Was he saying that plants are actually… humans?  Humans that have been genetically engineered?"

He seems to ignore me, instead staring ahead at the screen in front of him, where another doctor stands, as if waiting for our attention before he speaks.  "With the 'Plant Project' already vastly in motion, we now control a total of two running plants.  However, we have discovered that they are not limitless in their lifespan or energy production, thus we have implemented our back-up plan.  This consists of a small computer, which monitors input and output ratios, energy consumption and development, and growth rates.  When the original plant reaches the end of its' life span, the computer will send new growth cells, along with electrical impulses that will spawn new growth from the mother plant.  Much like a rose bush, it seems, the root controls the growth, and new 'buds' form from the stem.  So far, each plants' life expectancy is roughly two years, though we expect that this will improve with the implementation of these systems, and also help to stabilize some of the electrical fluctuations that have been present thus far."  Once more, the screen fades to black.

I think I'm beginning to feel sick.  I practically sneer at the screen ahead of me.  "Why is all of this information on _this_ ship?"

Knives swivels around in the chair, standing up with his fists clenched at his side.  He looks terribly angry, and I suppose he has every right to be.  Knives always believed that the humans and the plants were so different from one another; that plants were a type of God-like being that deserved special treatment.  Now, he finds out that they're nothing more than humans, as well.  "I suppose it was for security.  It was probably stored in every ship's memory logs so that if one of them crashed, there would be nearly infinite backups."  He shakes his head, falling back to lean against the smudged, dirty wall.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself as I watch him mentally battle with the facts thrown upon him.  Straightening up from the chair, I decide to go over there and do something… anything.  I stop when I hear the sound of static behind me.  Turning around, I see that another picture has appeared, blurred with colors all bleeding in to one another.

Steadily, something comes in to focus.  It appears to be a room.  Strangely, it seems to be a room on the Seeds ship, walls a pristine metallic silver, just as I remember them.  Someone emerges in the room from behind some unknown place; a man dressed in a gray coat with a mustache and a rather thick pair of spectacles.  He clears his throat, adjusting the coat about him, and then speaks.  "Experiment number 0039, Project Vash."  My eyebrows knit together at the name.  "Due to unfortunate accidents in experiment number 0038, the original prototype for Vash has been destroyed.  Thus, similar techniques were used to create another."  The view on the screen shifts slightly, moving over to what appears to be two small plants, a larger one residing in the far background, pulsing steadily.  "Once more implementing the technologies of cloning and genetic manipulation, we were able to cause new growth in the genes from plant number 5 and recreate normal plant growth and environment.  However, certain 'side-effects' if you will, occurred, and Vash's genes mutated and separated, spawning a new growth form.  This being will henceforth be known as "Knives."  However, we were still able to succeed in causing them to appear human in every way, even including the navel despite lack of umbilical cord.  Could you zoom in on this?"  The view gets closer to the two small plants; the murky yellow liquid inside slowly becoming clearer to reveal what appears to be a small child.  I stare at the engraved brass nametag along the top of the miniature plant that boasts only four simple letters:  VASH.  The man still speaks offscreen.  "Vash and Knives were found by Rem Saverem three days ago.  It seems the original calculated length of time for mother-bud incubation was incorrect."

My knees give way beneath me and I fall onto my ass in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the screen ahead of me, the only source of light in the room.  I grasp my hand over my mouth, feeling as if I'm about to either vomit or pass out from shock.  Knives reacts differently, running up to the computer screen and yelling at it.  "Are you telling me that I'm nothing but a fucking side-effect?"  The screen moves over to the second plant bulb, revealing what I suppose is more than likely Knives, smaller than… I was.

Knives growls and punches the screen, splintering the large glass covering and causing the picture to turn to crackling static.  I sigh and shake my head, thoughts swirling through my mind that I dare say make no sense.  It's almost as if my entire life has been a lie.  I suppose I'm not as upset about it as Knives, but it's still gotten me a bit shaken and uncertain.  He rests against the console, breathing heavily, before he turns to me.  A strange, crooked, nearly insane smile is on his lips, one that I've seen many times in my life, one that has haunted me and my waking dreams, visions of the past flowing back inito my consciousness.  I'd hoped to never see it again.  "I suppose that makes sense.  Look at me," he gestures to himself, hand against his chest, "and look at you."  The other hand is poised palm up in front of him.  "My hair, my eyes.  They're so much lighter.  Like a damn diluted version of the glory that is Vash."  I can tell he's being sarcastic, probably trying to pick a fight of some sort.  Sometimes I wonder, in truth, which of us is the cat, and which is the mouse?  When cornered, Knives seems to blindly lash out at anything, anyone, that he can.

I'm not going to let that happen.  Not to me, not today.  I refuse to be the scapegoat any longer.  Standing up, I take the initiative and role of the leader, knowing that being babies about this will get us absolutely nowhere.  "Did you find out anything about the plants, Knives?"  He leans back against the control panel, apparently surprised at the sudden change of subject.  He stares at me, icy, metallic blue stones glaring.  "Knives?"

"Just that."  His voice is a low, angry whisper.

"That doesn't help us with the current situation.  I'm just as shocked as you, but it's pointless to dwell on it when we should be worrying about what's _going_ to happen; not what _did_ happen."

His eyes are narrowed angrily, mouth set in a tight line.  I push back some of my hair, trying to ignore the fact that he looks just about ready to kill someone.  Understandably so, I suppose.  "Why would I want to help vermin who mutate their own kind?  Why would I want to help my own kind, if they're nothing but mutated vermin?"

Now it's my turn to get angry.  It isn't a boiling rage like it has been before, when Knives was hurting something extremely precious to me.  It's more of a little ball of pent-up rage, buried deep within that has been waiting to explode, and now has reason enough to, because he's being so nonsensical.  "You've gotten so much better at seeing all people as equals, and now because of this," I gesture dramatically towards the crackling computer screen, "you're going to forget all of that?"

He glances at it numbly, and then back to me, a grave look in his eyes.  I shake my head, at a loss.  "Fine.  Fine, you want to sit here and feel sorry for yourself?  Watch as the entire population faces death?  Go ahead.  You'll die too, Knives, but life is all you know, and I'm ashamed that you would give it up out of nothing but stupid pride."

I turn to leave, my footsteps heavy and loud as I practically stomp towards the exit.  "I'm not going to die!  Only the bulbed plants are failing, you idiot."

Turning around at that, the anger becomes more intense.  I know I shouldn't argue with him about this.  I shouldn't, but I do.  There are too many things… too many bad things, all of them pouring down on me at once.  I feel like I'm about to snap.  "You know damn well that we're going to die too!" I shout at him across the room, frustration with his naiveté building.  "Stop thinking that we're immortal!  Your hair is changing black, too, or did you forget?  Dying it back to its original color won't change the fact that we're both dying.  Our lives are slipping away before our very eyes, and all you can do is stand there saying that because you're not dead yet, you're not going to be."  I shake my head at him, snarling.  "You are so naïve, it's ridiculous."

"Well, I don't see you doing anything, either!  What do you want me to do?  I can't change anything.  I don't understand what's happening!"

"Then stop sitting there whining about it and figure it out.  I'm going to do _something_."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sitting at the bar of the only saloon open this late at night, I calmly run my index finger along the rim of the glass, moist with condensation.  I could say that I'm working things through in my mind, running down a long list of theories and probable solutions.  I'm not.  My mind seems to have gone blank, really.  Instead of trying to force it into action, I stare mutely at the ice cubes in my glass of scotch, watching as they melt and dilute the alcohol with water.

I am now thoroughly confused as to which course of action to take next.  I was wrong to say those things to Nicholai.  I was wrong to allow my anger to get in the way of my thought processes and logic.  Knives helped me to find that out.

On the other hand, the plants are failing, and my brother and I, along with the entire population, could very well die out.

I am at a loss.  Do I worry about my own needs and find Nicholai, apologize, and get things back to the way they were?  Or do I remind myself that we have no idea how much time is left, and try to find some sort of solution?  I don't know what to do.  Someone tell me what to do.

"Why are you just sitting there?  Don't you have better things to do with your time?"  Knives' hand rests upon my shoulder, heavy and firm.  He sits down beside me, calmly folding one arm over the other on the bar as he turns to watch my finger's idle motions.  "I thought you at least had a plan.  Certainly sounded like you did."

I smile weakly at him before picking up the glass, ice clinking against it, and take a small sip.  "I don't."

He remains silent for a moment, looking at me, yet through me, as if contemplating.  I give him a curious look.  He scoffs at me, shrugging his shoulders.  "The only thing I can think of to do is wait and see what happens.  Maybe if we're here when it fails, we can get a clue as to why."

I sigh at that, placing the glass back on the bar and lowering my head.  "That's fine.  We'll wait.  But in the meantime, I'm still going to try to do something."

He scoffs at me again, voice now incredulous.  "What?  What do you think you can do without knowing why this is happening?"

I stop to think about that, rubbing one of my eyes with the back of my hand.  I suddenly feel tired; almost too tired to think.  I decide to just give him any answer I can, anything to satiate his curiosity.  "I've got a few ideas.  Why don't you just do what you do, and I'll do what I do, and we'll meet somewhere in the middle?"

He scowls at me.  "What the hell are you talking about?"

I stand up, the muscles in my shoulders tightening painfully as I try to move them.  "I don't know anymore.  I'm going to sleep."  A twinge in the back of my neck causes me to flinch.  I raise my hand to it, rubbing a bit.  My eyes widen as it becomes even more painful, like a knife being jammed into my spine.

Seeing my expression, Knives stops scowling and mirrors it, eyes slightly concerned.  "You okay?"

I nod, despite the fact that it sends jolts of molten pain down the length of my back, radiating out into my right arm, which goes numb.  I'm almost grateful that my left arm is not real, and therefore has no feeling in it.  "I'm fine.  Just tired."  With that, I head to the wooden staircase to the left of the bar, the one leading to the rooms on the second floor.  With each step, another shot fires through my body, causing me to grit my teeth against it.  By the time I reach the landing, I'm sweating and shaking, out of breath.  The only things going through my mind are the icy, numbing pain and questions as to what the hell is going on.

I glance around quickly.  No one is in the hall, thank God.  I fall to my knees as the pain becomes more intense, releasing a strangled cry as my hands both go to the back of my neck, arms wrapping around my head.  The hurt, it's like nothing I've ever felt before.  Like fingers are being jammed into my brain, wriggling and pushing things around; like my flesh is being ripped off in long, thin lines down by back.

I close my eyes tightly, holding my breath and tensing every muscle in my body.

And then suddenly, as if it had never happened, the pain is gone.

I exhale and then breathe deeply for a moment, calming myself.  My hands slowly lower from the back of my neck and I hold them out in front of me.  My right one shakes uncontrollably, looking terribly pale and thin.  I swallow roughly, glancing around before I precariously stand, using the rough, splintering wood of the wall as a crutch.  What is happening to me?  What is this I'm feeling?  "Just forget about it," I tell myself.  "Go to sleep and forget about it."

I begin to walk down the hall, to my room at the end.  Then I stop dead in my tracks.  My eyes widen and my mouth falls open in realization of a possibility that has eluded me thus far, a reason and theory as to why I've been getting headaches lately, and why this one was so exponentially worse.  Oddly and against all common sense, I slowly smile and run to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the bar.  "Knives!  We have to go back to the plant!"

He gives me a curious look from the bar, confused.  "What?  Why?"

"I have an idea."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The plant is pulsating, like a star in the sky.  The light goes from brighter than the sun to dim – so dim that the room is nearly black as pitch.  I knew it.

"Knives," I bark at him, not bothering to contain my excitement and apprehension, "Get to the computers!"  I run up the metal stairs that lead to the walkway threaded around the plant, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu as I walk up to her.  I can vaguely hear Knives call out to me that he's ready before I place my hands on the glass shell surrounding her.  "Tell me what's wrong," I whisper to her, my breath hitching in my throat as I immediately feel the pain that she is feeling.  I close my eyes tightly and attempt to control my breathing.

Buds… something about… giving birth?  It's hard to understand her.  She sounds muffled, white noise permeating the sounds.  "I don't understand."  Pain.  There is molten pain, once again, and a gray light before she speaks.  I press my hands more firmly to the glass, trying to get closer, hear her better.

After a moment, I gasp in comprehension, pulling away from her and turning to Knives.  "It is the computers!  Something in the programming controlling the births!"  I jog back down the walkway and to the steps.  Taking them two at a time, the inertia causes me to slip and bang my chin on the railing.  Ouch… that's going to leave a mark.  Not that I really care.  I'm too excited.

"I don't see anything wrong with them.  Are you sure?"

I pull myself to my feet and stumble over to him.  "I'm sure of it.  Something about…" I close my eyes, trying to remember every word as clearly as possible.  "Something about the computers that control what is sent to the plants to spawn the new growth.  There's something wrong with it."

Knives growls, still searching on the small computer, finding nothing, and getting frustrated.  "This piece of shit isn't telling me anything!" he barks back at me, pounding on the keyboard.  I place my hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.  "It's saying that all systems are running fine and there are no problems."

"If there were no problems, the plants wouldn't be dying.  We need to find the other computer."

"Do you have any idea where it is?"

"No," I sigh, glancing around.  I don't know where it is, but if we don't find it.  "It must be near the plant," I say off-handedly, eyes scanning the room for a door of any kind.  Of course, it would be hard to discern a door from a group of pipes in here, everything is so jumbled together.

"What about that?"  Knives points at a tiny crawlspace underneath the walkway of the plant with a small vent-like, grated door covering it.  The dark links stick out like a sore thumb in the metallic shine of the room.  I should have noticed that.

"Oh, hey!  Maybe that is it!"  I run across the room, back to where the plant is, and kneel on the floor, jamming my fingers through the holes in the covering to pull it off.

"You wanna go crawling around with the spiders, go right ahead.  I'll go ask Jason if he knows anything about it."

I nod to him, jerking the covering off and peering inside.  It's pitch black.  Oh well… it's not like I've never crawled through tiny shafts like this before.  "We can't all spend our time with the butterflies, Knives," I answer morosely, mocking the arrogant nature of some of our previous arguments that occurred so long ago.  I stick my head inside, feeling the impending hysteria of claustrophobia and trying my best to ignore it.  I lie on my stomach and use my elbows to pull myself inside.  Not enough room to actually crawl.  Knives' footsteps begin to fade as I pull my way through a dark, musty-smelling, cobweb-infested tunnel.

"Large open fields," I whisper to myself.  "Bright… blue skies and large open fields.  The walls are _not_ closing in on you.  Ouch…" I feel around in the dark, hands brushing against some sharp object jutting out of the floor.  It feels like a piece of the metal flooring has been bent upwards, but I can't be too sure.  My arm is cut, but I continue forward and ignore the pain as the scrap of metal brushes along the length of my body.  "Ouch!"  Got my leg, too, the bastard.

I lift my head, pressing my torso down into the floor so that I can lift it high enough to see ahead of me.  Thankfully, there appears to be a light source of some type up ahead… possibly a larger space.  At least, I hope there is.  Eagerly, I continue down the cramped space until I reach it.  Poking my head out first, I peer around a dim room with white walls and – oh thank God – a computer that appears to be up and running, its small blue screen flashing a message.  I pull myself out of the tiny space and fall onto the floor before brushing nearly five inches of dust and cobwebs out of my hair and off of my clothes.  The air is still heavy and hard to breathe and it clogs my lungs.  My arm is bleeding and my pants are torn, but I really don't care as I walk over to the computer, still brushing off dust, and take a seat in the small chair.

"Data input necessary.  What does that mean?"  I press my finger to the tiny button on the screen that reads, "more" and another screen comes up, black with white letters and numbers scrolling rapidly down the page.  I blink, trying to read it all, until another message appears.  "Input type?"  Shrugging and trusting my instinct, I press, "automatic," and watch as the screen slowly fades out and turns off with a click.  A heavy sinking feeling plagues me as, with a slight humming noise, every light in the room slowly fizzles out, leaving me in darkness once again.

"Oh shit…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I am SO sorry this took so long to get out.  I've just had the most horrible case of writer's block.  I feel really, REALLY bad about it, but I will try my best to work through it.  I promise!  ;_;


	15. When the love receives its lover

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimers: I don't own it and I never will.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This is all just a dream; just an awful, horrible dream that I'll wake up from at any minute.

Any minute now.

I screwed up again, didn't I?  I tried to help, like I always do, and I screwed things up.  Why does… why does this always happen when I'm involved?  Someone always dies.  I probably just killed her.  Even now, after I've lived so long I don't even remember how old I am, I still have the worst luck.  Death still follows me everywhere I go, like a shadow.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I wrap my arms about myself, eyebrows knit together in confusion.  What did I do wrong?  The program seemed to know what _it_ was doing.  Why didn't it tell me what to do?

I close my eyes and feel a tear fall down my face, my throat clenching up.  Dammit.  Damn me.  I'm cursed with bad luck, I know it.  I can't keep a sane and stable relationship with my brother, I can't fall in love and hold on to it, and I can't prevent the death of every person on this planet.  I'm… useless.  God, that makes me feel awful.  I know it's not true.  I know that I've done plenty of things to help others.  I've saved lives, and I've helped create the world that we now live in.  I can't let this beat me, or us.

Screw this.  That's right.  I'm not going to give up like that.  I place my feet firmly on the floor and lean forward, squinting at the confounded screen.  The computer is… making noise.

"Vash, are you still crawling around in that damned hole?"  Knives voice echoes eerily through the tiny crawlspace and the cramped room where I sit, still having a staring contest with a blank screen.  I feel helpless and weak-minded.  There must be something I can do.

"Something…"  I clear my throat, forcing down the lump in it before trying again to yell back at him.  "Something bad happened.  I think I may have done something wrong!"

"I don't know what you're saying but get your ass out of that hole, you idiot!  Jason's here."

Sighing, I stand from the chair and go back to the undersized passageway.  Maybe I did fail, and I can't fix it.  But maybe we can try again.  I cast a glance back at the screen, now flashing another message before turning, going headfirst into the tunnel.  My eyes widen and I immediately pull myself back out.  Message?  I scramble back over to the computer and squint at it.

Data input complete.

Data input complete?

Data input… "Data input complete!  Knives, I think I did it!!"  I shove my head into the shaft, grinning like a maniac for none other than the spiders to see.  "Knives, is the plant working?  How is she doing?"

There is a moment of hesitation before he answers me, voice bellowing through the place like a typhoon.  "Yes she's working, dumbass!  That's why you should get out of there now!"

Without a second to think, I shove myself into the cramped space once again and begin a furious, manic crawl towards the other end.  I ignore the jagged piece of metal jutting up from the floor, which scrapes along the imitation flesh of my left arm and tears my other pant leg.  I really couldn't care that the dust is beginning to suffocate me and I'm breathing frantically, going from coughs to over-joyous laughs to sob-like sounds of happiness.  I reach the end and spill from the passageway like liquid, flowing onto the floor and standing up.  I ignore Jason's curious looks and Knives' awkward glare and I run to the stairs that lead to the plant.  I stumble up the steps, falling once again but refuse to let it slow me down as I crawl over to her and press my hand against the glass.  "Are you alright now?  Did it stop hurting?" I shout at her, not bothering to notice that it wasn't necessary.

The answer is as clear in my mind as if it had been spoken aloud.  "Yes."

I jump to my feet, not knowing whether to throw my arms in the air or hug myself in excitement.  I feel… shocked.  Surprised, shocked, elated.  I don't know what to do.  Instead of the obvious, which would be me jumping up and down like a complete and total moron, I take a moment to remind myself that this may not be the end or the source of the problem.  There is still a chance that it was only a small solution to the main riddle.  "I think we may have fixed it."

"What did you do?" Jason asks, taking a step forward and peering up at me through the railing.

I turn and grin down at them both, wiping at my face, probably only smearing the dirt and dust that has gathered there.  "There was a message on the computer in there that said "data input necessary."  I simply accepted the command, and it… well, I guess it worked."

Jason looks confused for a moment, rubbing at his chin in thought.  I just noticed that he looks rather tired, and is still wearing his robe and slippers.  Knives must have dragged him out of bed.  "The computer?  You mean the reproduction mainframe down there?"  I nod.  "Nothing like this has ever happened before in the history of plants on this planet.  I was always told that those grids needed no maintenance or human support of any kind."

Knives steps forward, looking a bit angry.  He sneers at Jason and the general situation before saying, "Of course you were told that.  It's part of a lost technology.  You can't expect to know anything about something that's never happened before.  You're only human."

"Knives…"

"Oh shut up, Vash.  I didn't mean anything by it."  I nod meekly and look away.

Jason is completely unaffected by Knives' apparent hostility.  He is still looking thoughtful.  I know that he is much smarter than others give him credit for, especially my brother.  His mind works like a computer, itself; always calculating and solving problems with simpler solutions than expected.  I watch him intently, trying to decipher what he's thinking.  "What we need to do now… is somehow integrate the two main programs together."  He takes another moment to think.  "I'll need to learn more about the reproduction program first, though, and find out why that happened.  Knives," he turns to my brother, ready to give orders and not care about protestations from him.  "You and Vash go to… wherever you're staying.  Leave this to me."

That's not what I'd expected him to say.  Before Knives can make any sort of comment, I speak up.  "But Jason, we can't just leave this all to you.  Let us help."

He shrugs and kneels down to peer into the small corridor I'd crawled out of.  "No, it's really a one-man job, anyway, and I know more about plants than you give me credit for.  Get a shower, Vash.  You look awful."

I frown, looking down at my dirty clothes and one bloodstained sleeve.  "Thanks."

Knives rolls his eyes and turns from us, practically stomping out of the room.  I'd thought he would at least care about the situation enough to argue with Jason.  I guess not.  He never ceases to amaze me.  "If you're going to crawl through there, be careful.  There's a piece of… _something_ sticking up.  Cut my arms," I say as I walk down the stairs.  He nods to me before turning away and going to one of the many computers lining the walls of the metal-paneled room.  I can already tell he's not listening to me anymore, already becoming engrossed in his thoughts.  Some people are like that, I guess.  They prefer to work alone.  I shake my head and leave the room, whispering, "good luck," before stepping out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I hadn't realized how tired I was until I stepped out of the shower and lay down in the small bed my dingy room above the bar.  The blanket was thin and scratchy and the pillow smelled musty enough to remind me of that horrible crawlspace I'd so recently crawled through.  However, none of these things bother me.  I rest peacefully on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep and wearing a small smile of satisfaction.  I hope that everything is okay, that I've become the hero and saved the world.  I won't let it become too solid in my mind, though, until I'm certain I've been successful.

Knives shifts around in the bed next to mine, scratchy sheets making noise.  I open my eyes and watch him sleep quietly.  The blue light of the moon spills into the room, falling just short of his face and causing his profile to become illuminated, the dark side facing me.  His mouth parts as he releases a sigh and I smile.

My brother, who never ceases to amaze me.

"Why are you staring at me?"

My smile widens.  "If you were to die tomorrow, would you be satisfied with your life?"

He turns his head to me, finally opening his eyes.  I can barely see their bright outline staring directly into mine.  "What kind of a question is that?"

"I just want to know if you've been happy enough to die happily.  It worries me sometimes…"

"What?"

I close my eyes, not courageous enough to look into his eyes as I say this.  "I worry that you've never been able to love like I have.  Does it bother you?"

"No."  Bold, simple, and true, but I know immediately that there is more to be said about that.  I wait patiently.  "Would someone who didn't care about you go through all of the trouble I did to get you back?"

I open my eyes once more, smiling sadly.  "I can never love you that way.  You're my brother."

"I know."

He turns away from me then, and I hear his steady breathing for a moment.  I am almost asleep when he finally speaks again.  "You really care about Nicholai, don't you?"  It's more of a statement than a question.  I suppose he needs reassurance, a solid and unyielding affirmation.

"Yes."

"And you want him back?"  Another statement.

"Yes.  I want to see him again."

And that ends our conversation for the night.  I turn over and fall into a heavy sleep.  My dreams, such a rare occurrence, are pleasant.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Why are we going to the bar in the middle of the day?  I thought we were going to see Jason?"

Knives glances back at me, frowning angrily.  "Can't you stop asking stupid questions, for once?  I have a headache and I want a drink, alright?"

I kick at the ground as I walk, a rock splaying from my path.  "Why can't you go by yourself?"

"Shut up."  Knives stomps up the steps, a wooden plank creaking underneath his weight, and immediately goes through the doors.  I sigh and follow.

I blink wide eyes at the large crowd that has gathered in the room.  They're all staring at me.  Knives crosses his arms and smirks.  "What?"

"Surprise," Knives answers simply.  Streamers fill the air and fall onto my head.  I continue to stare at Knives as people gather around me and begin patting me on the back.

"What?"

"I talked to Jason this morning.  It seems that you solved the problem.  He's sent the message to other plant engineers and they are currently restoring power to every city on the planet."

"What??"

"Shut up and have a drink."

I'm confused, but I numbly walk to the bar and sit down, crossing my arms on the polished wood surface and staring at my hands.  It really worked?  I did something good for once?  The bartender stands in front of me, leaning against the other side of the bar and waiting for my order.  "Just… give me a glass of water or something," I say dispassionately, still trying to work through things in my mind.  It's rather pathetic that I would be confused as to why something actually went right in my life, isn't it?

"Oh, you can do better than that."

I jerk my head up at his voice, nearly jumping off of my chair in shock.  Smoky blue eyes and a smile on his lips, he winks at me and tilts his head slightly.  "Nicholai?" I gasp, in complete shock.  "What are you doing here?"

"Knives had some guy tie me up, throw me in the back of a truck, and drive me here."  I laugh frantically at that, disbelieving.  "I'm serious.  I was kind of pissed 'til I heard about what happened."  He leans toward me, face mere inches from my own.  I can feel his breath, an erotic and yearned-for sensation as he says, "I guess you're a hero again?"

I ignore the small crowd around us and the noise they make that seems to lessen, as if to allow my attentions to focus solely on him.  My lips part and I stare into his eyes, nearly feeling my entire body shutter at the simple fact that he's so close.  "…Guess so."  And then, as if it had never happened, he pulls away from me.  He blinks and averts his eyes.  The moment shatters and breaks apart, falling away from me.  In my mind I reach out for him, trying to convince him not to turn away.  I wish I could explain what it feels like to reach out for something that isn't there, that's too far away already.  It's a horrible, sinking, twisting feeling.

"I think we need to talk about some things, Vash."  His voice numbs me as it washes over my body so cold.  It almost hurts to hear.  I now know how my smile could cause Wolfwood so much pain.  I nod and look down, the mental anguish and apprehension draining too much from me to even assemble the strength to raise my head again.  "I can't explain to you why I killed that man, and even the situations are no excuse.  It doesn't make a difference anymore that he murdered my parents right in front of me, or killed my niece.  She was only six years old and was visiting us and that bastard…" he grits his teeth together and hisses the word, obviously battling with his own mind for emotional control.  "Well, he killed my niece to get to me, and that's why I never see my brother anymore."  His eyebrows knit together and he licks his lips.  I can see that tears are welling up in his eyes yet he refuses to let them fall.

And I… I lower my head, shocked and almost feeling the pain that he feels.  His reasons are even more justified than I had thought.  What would Rem do in this situation?  For the first time in my life, I feel like Rem's words are almost unimportant, too naïve to hold any meaning in a cruel world where revenge is necessary and yearned for so much and deserved.  Yet, Rem's ideals are now mine, I suppose.  Though not quite as rigid, I still hold firm to them.  "I understand now why you did it.  Either way, I forgive you, though.  Everyone I know has killed before.  I would never be able to get on with my life if I never forgave them," I raise my head and look into his eyes, admitting through the pain something that I'd hoped to never have to remember again, "or myself."

He closes his eyes and nods.  I can tell that he wants to say something, but thinks better of it.  Instead, he leans forward on the bar once again and tilts his head, eyes still red-rimmed from the previous conversation.  He smiles just a bit.  "Does this mean you forgive me?"

I smile back.  "I forgive you."

And there, in the middle of the bar with people all over the place, he grabs onto my hand and presses moistened lips to my own.  Instead of being embarrassed, though, I am elated and proud.  I press back against his lips and touch his face with my hand.  He tastes like vodka, cigarettes, and sugar.  Better than I remember.

Vaguely, my mind registers that someone in the room busts out laughing.  I pull back a bit and smile nervously.  Knives yells at the man to shut up and punches him so hard that he falls out of his chair.  I look around the room, which is a bit more solemn than it was before.  I can feel my face burning just a bit as a few people stare at me.  Finally, I knit my eyebrows together and pout, saying, "Why doesn't anyone ever ask the hero if he'd rather live happily ever after with the prince instead of the princess?"

"Start having a party, or you'll all feel as shitty as this guy," Knives threatens, pointing at the man still struggling to get up off of the floor.  Tense conversation fills the room.  I shake my head and look back at Nicholai.

"So, stranger, what'll it be?" he asks, smiling and picking up a glass.  He flips it up to his other hand and places it on the bar.

"The best stuff in the house.  This is a party, after all."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two Scotch Sours, a Whiskey Curacao Fizz, and nearly seven hours later, the bar is packed full.  Many people who have been here all afternoon have forgotten their original reason for being here.  New people arrived and joined the party, they too forgetting or never knowing what they are celebrating.  It suits me well, I suppose.  Nicholai and I are huddled together on the only couch in the room, a brown rust-colored thing with busted springs.  I'm not uncomfortable though, curled up beside him with my head resting on his chest.  I can't stop smiling either, as he turns and kisses the top of my head.

We seem like such the clichéd couple, curled together like this.  But, you know, I like it.  Sometimes it's good to be cliché.  It makes you feel average and normal for once.  Sometimes I need that.

"Nicholai?"

"Mm?"

"I wanted to tell you something."  
  


"What?"

I take a moment to think, but with a sigh, continue.  "Just wanted to say that I love you."  It may be too early to say things like that and I don't know how he'll take it, but it doesn't matter now.  After losing Wolfwood, it was so hard for me to love again.  I almost tried not to.  Yet, it happened and it feels good, and I'm not going to hide it.  I'm going to fall in love whenever I can.

"Love you too," he says without hesitation, and I smile.

It was simpler than I thought it would be, no worries about rejection or a hurtful reaction.  I just said it, and he said it back, and five minutes later, the euphoria that I feel will only be a memory.  I guess I'll have to get him to say it again so that I can feel that good all the time.  Love really is a drug, isn't it?

Nicholai's hand rubs my arm a bit and I sit up, snagging my glass off of the table in front of us.  I pick the orange slice out of my cocktail (I've never been very fond of cocktails) and bite into it, sucking on the alcohol-flavored juice.  My eyes glance around the room lazily, wondering when this will get boring.  I look back at Nicholai, who is smirking just a bit.  I pull the orange slice out of my mouth.  "What?"

He grins before taking a sip of his own drink.  "I've been away from you for too long," he nearly whispers, eyebrows twitching upwards as he smirks.

I think I know what he's saying.  This whole party suddenly got very, very boring.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N:  Last chapter coming up!  It's already clear in my mind.  Just need to type it up.  Oh, and… don't forget to stick around for the epilogue.  [Yes, this has an epilogue.  =)]


	16. And what was lost now is found

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer:  Despite the fact that I spend my time writing 16-chapter-long stories about it, I do not own Trigun.  =\

Enjoy the ending.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nicholai and I snuck away from the party.  Knives saw.  His eyes followed me as we sifted through the crowd that had gathered.  The only thing strange about it though was the fact that he was sitting at a table with a group of people, and he actually seemed to be enjoying himself.  He wasn't angry or jealous.  He smirked at me and waved goodnight before turning back to the conversation.

After previously showing hostility to them, it's nice to see him relaxing and talking.  I guess Knives is just like that.  His personality has always been and will always be unstable.  He will always change how he feels about certain things, his views never remaining fixed.  I admire that because he can adapt to situations upon receiving new information; something I've never been very good at.  We really are as different as night and day, I suppose.  Me, the serious one who remains fixated on outdated ideas and my brother, the more intense and adaptive form of myself.  He never ceases to amaze me.

And now Nicholai and I are walking up the stairs; stumbling really.  Arms wrapped around one another and feet getting tangled together from the closeness and the alcohol, we're bumping against the walls and trying to keep each other from falling as we laugh freely, like children.  Our touches though are anything but childlike.  One hands' fingers intertwined, our free hands are uninhibited and roam the contours of each others' bodies as we continue to stumble down the hallway.  We finally make it to the door and Nicholai presses me against it, his mouth immediately working against mine.  I grin through the kiss, nearly laughing as I search behind me for the brass knob and stumble against the doorframe.  He cups the back of my head, fingers running through my hair and against my scalp, making it all the more difficult for me to concentrate.

I finally open the door and we both fall through it, me landing on my back with Nicholai on top.  We do not hesitate in our touches.  There isn't a single separation of our mouths that would give evidence of our tumble onto the hard wooden floorboards.  I pull up my feet and kick the door closed, leaving the room in darkness, for neither of us has had the opportunity to turn on the lights.

Nicholai tugs on my clothing, insistent and impatient hands seeking refuge in the fabric until finally he finds the buttons and, slowly, patiently, one by one, opens my shirt.  With every inch of newly exposed skin, lips are pressed against it until finally he has kissed down the length of my chest, past every scar and gash without a single hesitation.  His hands slowly slide underneath my shirt and push it aside, exposing my shoulders.  I quiver underneath his touch despite myself as rough fingertips become gentle, roaming over the exposed planes of my body.

Lips are once more bearing down on my own, insistent yet pliant, and I close my eyes softly, tasting a moist, alcohol-flavored tongue as it explores my mouth.  My hands travel up his back, feeling the muscles flex through layers of clothing as he moves against my touch.  I push upwards until I have him on his back and I am finally on top.  I pull away only enough to break the kiss but still close enough for our lips to touch as I speak.  "Do you want to stay here on the floor?"

He opens his eyes slightly, the deep smoky blue hard looking black in the darkness.  He looks around a bit, not moving his head.  "Right here is fine with me."

"We might get splinters from the floorboards."

"Yeah, and we might break the springs in the bed.  Your choice."

We don't talk about anything serious; the important issues out of the way and the furthest things from our minds.  I now know the reason that we are together.  I know, indefinitely, how I feel about Nicholai.  I know that certain things can be 'overlooked,' so to speak, and I can forgive him for things that may seem so terribly wrong at the time.  And I no longer care anymore whether or not he is truly the reincarnation of Nicholas D. Wolfwood, though nothing has lead me to believe otherwise.   I no longer care, because it doesn't matter.  I love this man for who he is, and the fact that he was so immediately kind to me, and the way his hands touch my skin like they're doing right now.

"Tell me something?"  I tilt my head and look down at him, only then noticing that one hand is smoothing out a lazy pattern on my back.  His eyes smile at me and I nod, breathing heavily, my head spinning as his other hand finds its way to my neck and his fingers flow through strands of hair.  "Why do you have so many scars?"

I close my eyes, looking away.  "Did that upset you?" he asks immediately, tightening his arms just a bit to pull me closer.  I shake my head and move my hands to the front of his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly to distract myself as I tell him one of the answers swimming in my mind.

"You told me you've heard many of the stories about my past?"  My hands work the shirt open and I glance down at his chest, scarred yet perfect compared to mine.  He nods in response.  "I got these scars, mostly by helping others who couldn't help themselves."  I lay my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

"It makes you angry?"

"Sometimes bitter, not angry.  It was my own choice."

"You're more brave than I thought."  I grin as I hear those words and sit up again, pressing my hands into his chest and then stroking downwards to his stomach.  His skin is so smooth… I never thought it could be this smooth.

"Do they bother you?"  He immediately shakes his head and I feel the stress caused by that question that had settled in the back of my mind slowly release.  I should have known that they didn't.  He's one of the only people who nearly failed to acknowledge the fact that my body was disfigured in such a way.

"What you look like doesn't bother me."

I raise my eyebrows.  "Are you saying I'm ugly?"

He laughs and grabs me about the waist, pushing my shoulders down.  He presses his lips against mine, still smiling.  His arms loosen a bit as he pushes me onto my back and straddles my hips, sitting back up.  I frown at him.  I'm back at the bottom.  "What I meant was that it doesn't matter to me the way you look.  I didn't fall in love with your body."  I smile up at him.  I can practically feel the happiness ooze off of me like liquid.  "I fell in love with that nice ass of yours."  He reaches a hand under me and squeezes my rear.  My mouth falls open in disbelief and he smiles a bit more.  I snort and shove at his shoulder, mouth tilted in some sort of frown.  "Kidding… I'm kidding."

"Here I was thinking I had the greatest man in the world… and then he tells me that all he cares about is my ass."

"You have to admit it's a nice one, though."

"So I've been told."

He frowns at that.  "Who told you that?"

I grin.  "No one important."

He frowns a bit more before shaking his head and taking a deep breathe.  I watch his chest rise and fall through the gap in his open shirt.  He turns back to me and leans down for another kiss.  More insistent now, it tells me to stop talking and I do.  I squirm underneath him, though, something sharp sticking into my shoulder.  I grunt a bit and he pulls away, looking slightly impatient.  "What now?"

"Something's poking me."

He immediately grabs my hand, standing up, and then pulls me to my feet right behind him.  "Easily solved."  I raise my eyebrows at him, but forget about reactions when his hands rest on my hips and his mouth meets mine and he begins taking small steps in my direction.  I stumblingly walk backwards, arms resting on his shoulders as my senses are filled with simple pleasures.  Wet.  Spicy.  Warm.  Smooth.  I grunt as my shoulders unexpectedly meet the wall.  Rough.  Nicholai takes another step forward, until I am pinned with his body, legs spread.  The hand behind me goes to the waist of my pants, deft fingers taking only a second to undo them.  His hand presses against my lower stomach and then slides around to my hip, pushing down the loosened fabric at my waist.  I lower both hands to his pants, one of them quickly working on the button and zipper, the other brushing against the protuberant bulge in the front.  I smile against his mouth as his lips stop moving and he moans just a bit, so low and deep that it almost sounds like a growl.  I love it when he makes that sound.  His hand, strong and firm, slides around under my pants until it is massaging my buttocks and pull me closer until we are pressed against one another.  His hips push against mine almost painfully and I tilt my head upwards and open my eyes.

I feel strangely detached, watching the small cobweb on the ceiling float around in the breeze caused by my breath as his hands push my pants down even more.  He steps on them and pushes them down around my ankles.  I grip his shoulders and step out of the fabric, pushing it aside with my foot.  His mouth goes to my neck and I close my eyes lightly, feeling the heavy, hard sucking and the tongue licking against the flesh above my rapid pulse.  I swallow tightly and sigh as his hands quickly shift over my body, fingers touching and teasing every inch of flesh.

I feel almost as if I am in another world, off somewhere floating, drifting in my own mind.  His hands and mouth and body, so close and warm and solid, push me farther into the nadir of my thoughts.  Yet, I open my eyes and the cobweb is still floating above, bringing me back to reality.  Sometimes I think and question whether or not this is real, though.  I question whether or not I am fortunate enough to have someone I hold so close to my heart hold me just as close.  I look at him and he looks back.  Our eyes lock for a moment, the sunset outside of the window casting half of his face in shadow.  For a moment, I think I can hear his thoughts, though I don't understand them.  I put my hands on his shoulders and pull him closer.

"Is something wrong?" he asks as I hug him and tickle my fingers down his neck and back.

I close my eyes.  "No."  I just love you so much that sometimes it hurts, and I don't understand it.

He kisses a path from my shoulder to my ear and then nibbles at it, sending shivers up my spine.  I quiver beneath his ministrations, lowering my hands to his waist to pull upon the fabric, searching for something to hold on to.  He whispers in my ear and I don't hear the words, too caught up in the feeling of warm breath over receptive skin.  I exhale, releasing the tension in my muscles and wanting more than anything to surround him, to feel every inch of his body against every inch of mine.  I sigh at my own strange illusions, settling instead for pressing my back firmly against the wall and lifting one leg, brushing it against his.  A warm chill travels through my body at the fresh contact against neglected nerves.

His hands, ever present against my body, seem ethereal in my state of mind, diaphanous fingers dancing over sensitive flesh.  He runs one palm down my thigh, pulling up my leg even more.  I contract my muscles, trying to get even closer as he nibbles at my neck.  Sweat trickles down my face, the heat of the room and our motions causing my body to react.  I grab his face and kiss him eagerly, engraining the taste of his lips on my mind.  "…Want you…" I pant into his mouth despite myself, feeling a bit strange saying things like that.  It had never really been a part of my nature to desire these types of relationships with others.  I spill awkward phrases at inopportune times, not knowing how to voice the needs that grow inside me when I am so close to him.

"Say that again," he pleads, melting to his knees in front of me.  I watch as he pins my hips against the wall and takes me into his mouth.  Closing my eyes, I shiver intensely, mouth falling open as I gasp for air.

"Want you…" I whisper to the blackness of my vision, fingers flexing and searching for something to hold onto.  My fingernails scratch at the wall aimlessly, finding nothing.

He pulls away, licking his lips, and looks up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded.  "Again." Whispered yet demanding, I feel my body tighten at that one simple word.

"I want you," I say plainly, intensely.  Like a reward, I feel a warm mouth envelope me once again, feel a tongue teasing its way up my length and back down again.  "I want you."  His hands slide from my hips to my thighs and in between, kneading and massaging the receptive nerves there and causing my knees to weaken.  I close my eyes, gritting my teeth as his meticulous hands and mouth work me, molding me like a lump of clay, from the inside out.  I can't stop myself from releasing a tense moan, sounding more like a cry, as I lean my head back against the wall.

"Want.  You."  I put my hands on his head and push him away, leaning down to kiss him and apparently throwing him off balance.  We fall back on the floor in a spread of limbs and exposed flesh, and I lay on top of him, ravishing and pillaging his mouth with my tongue.  "Want you," I whisper into his mouth, not wanting to break the kiss, "inside me… Nicky."

He grunts into my mouth, pressing himself upwards against me and grinding our bodies together slowly.  He wraps his arms around my waist, warm skin against my lower back, and holds me firmly against him.  Hands lie flat before sliding down to the sides of my hips.  Fingers press into flesh, holding.  But I pull back, separating us, as I deftly remove his pants.  He lies on the floor, watching me and pulling back his legs to get out of them more quickly.  I toss them away before lowering myself back to him, returning our bodies to the place that feels so perfect: together.

I am slowly turned, pressed against the floorboards once more, him on top.  I sigh into him, arching my back and pulling up my legs in invitation.

How he's turned my world…

Fingers slide down, probing, seeking entrance.  My face contorts as he finds it, slides inside.  I grit my teeth against the mix of sensations.  I release a shaky, uncertain breath when another finger is entered.  Opening my eyes, I see him watching me, watching the blending of emotions upon my face.  His eyes, sad and longing, search mine as he pushes his fingers further inside.  My mouth falls open and I tilt my head back in another soundless, wordless cry. 

My hips thrust upwards of their own accord, and I can slowly feel body leaving mind in the wake, instinct and need taking over for me where logic left off.  My eyes are difficult to open.  I feel them shudder slightly as I try to look at him, and then close again.  When he finally withdraws his fingers, leaving me out of breath and panting on the floor, I wait expectantly.  I watch dark shapes form behind my eyelids, suddenly feeling as if I am drunk.

My mind spins out of control once more as I feel him enter me for a second time.  His hands are all over me, caressing my chest, pressing into my hips, running up and down my sides.  In my blurred mind, it feels as if there are a million people touching me, all at once.  My muscles tense up, causing more friction and a bit of pain.  I arch into his touch, any touch I can pinpoint.  I breathe in the smells of the moment.  Sweat and sex invades my heightened and multiplied sense.

I open my eyes and watch him.  I see his strong shoulders flex, gleams from the moonlight shimmering off of him to the point that he almost looks as if he is glowing.  I watch him shift slowly, intently, every movement controlled and precise.  Eyebrows knit together and sweating, he appears to be holding back, restraining himself, more than likely for me.

I maintain watching him, my movements having ceased.  He breathes heavily before glancing up at me.  His eyes catch on mine and lock there.  His mouth falls open and I echo his appearance.  Extending my hand to him, he takes it and we interlock our fingers lightly.  I pull him down to me, kiss him, and stroke his cheek.  Our lips remain fixed together, wet and temperate.  Our breaths merge.  "Nicky…" I whisper, more to myself than to him, still seeking to make certain that this is not a dream or a strange illusion.  "Why are you going so slow?"

He pulls away, just enough to gaze at me, a staid expression that gives away kept secrets.  "I want this to last… for a very long time."

I can feel my throat clenching, eyes burning as if I am about to shed tears over his words.  "It's okay," I rasp, my voice straining to break free from its confines.  "We have enough time to make it last."

I pull him back down, pressing our bodies together.  His chest settles against mine and I become aware that our heartbeats have matched each other almost exactly.

The past no longer matters to me, as we lie together, against one another.  Nothing really matters except him and his body and mind and soul, and the fact that it is so close to me.  And when he moves once again, no longer dragging out the moment to more than be necessary, I feel even closer though he pulls away.  I feel us become engaged in each other for an infinite amount of time, as if eternity has compressed itself together, just for us.  I know then that we will never be apart.

I know that this love will defy time and all existence and continue on forever.

When I feel myself reaching the epitome of desire, I know that the rest of my life has been the illusion and that this is the one thing that has been so indefinitely real.

There are things that can't be explained in words, I believe.  There are some things that are beyond all comprehension.  They need something called blind faith in order to exist, and that's all they need.  You just have to know in your heart that it's real.  You have to trust in yourself and your beliefs.  You have to let go of everything else but what you envision as infinitely true.  Follow your heart.  And when you do that, you will find real love and true peace.  Forever.


	17. Perhaps we'll meet again, somewhere in t...

And thus, all good things must come to an end.  I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.  I hope the ending does not disappoint, and I hope that I can, at some point in the future, write another story that is even remotely as fulfilling as this one has been.

Here is the short epilogue, the conclusion, but…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer: Yasuhiro Nightow, Pioneer, Madhouse, and probably some other companies own Trigun.  Not me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He placed the book back on the shelf, running his fingers once more over the red velvet spine, feeling the engraved gold lettering, uneven against his fingers.  He blinked slowly, watching it, wondering where the fantasy ended and the truth began.

Turning from the book and the uneven and rough wooden shelves, he prepared to leave, yet stopped in his tracks.  Something had caught his eye about that book, once again.  He pulled it free from the shelf, looking over the cover.  The gold lettering on the front and spine stuck out to him.  The simple title was bold and obvious against the cover, leaving everything to the imagination.  "Somewhere in Time," he whispered to himself, the sound of his old voice sounding strange to him in the small, enclosed space; one of the back rooms of an old used book store.  The name of the author boasted nothing more than "Vash," and was quickly ignored, given the fact that he knew of no author by this name.  He flipped the book over in his hand, searching for the small spark of gold on the back that had eluded him until the point that he had decided to leave.  "The end is only the beginning," the gold letters said to him, faded and less visible than the others on the front and sides.  He stared at that small sentence curiously for a moment before shaking his head in dismissal of his strange thoughts and replacing the book.

"Val… have you been in here all day?"

The boy brushed back some of the blonde hair that had fallen into his eyes as he glanced over to his friend, light green eyes wide in embarrassment.  "I was reading," he answered simply, fifteen year old voice breaking despite himself.

The young man sauntered from behind the side of the bookshelves, hands being lowered into the pockets of his black jeans.  Blue eyes looked up through strands of dark hair.  A strange, wide smirk showed on his face.  "You'd better get a move-on.  You know your mom doesn't like you loafing around.  We've got work to do."

Val frowned at that, stepping away from the bookshelf and towards his friend.  "Don't tease me, Nicolas," he admonished his dark haired companion, the strange book momentarily forgotten as they walked through the doorway that lead to the back room and the maze of haphazardly placed bookshelves.  They exited the store together, the small bell above the door announcing their departure.

"So what was the book about?"  Nicolas asked the blonde, scratching his chin and not really caring all that much.  He asked out of pure consideration for his friends' interest.

Val glanced up at the sky, the harsh double suns that sent rays of light into his eyes as he walked along, feet kicking through tall blades of grass along the edges of the sidewalks.  He pulled out his pair of sunglasses, placing the strange orange-tinted spectacles over his eyes.  "Reincarnation, I think.  Something about love lasting forever."

The dark haired young teen scoffed.  "You're such a romantic, Val.  Boy meet girl, boy falls in love with girl, girl leaves boy for boy's older brother.  Why do you read that girlie stuff?"

"It was about two guys, actually."

Nicolas stopped in his tracks, staring after his friend, watching his hand drag along the whitewashed fence beside him.  "Oh…" He smirked a bit in understanding.  "Ooooh."

"Shut up, Nick."

"Val likes to get it on with other guys, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Likes to do the dirty tango with men?"

"Shut up."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, I'm sure.  Love is love, right?"

Val glanced at his friend, looking strangely serious despite the playful teasing.  His mind was caught up in a whirlwind, half ecstatic over the fact that Nicolas seemed accepting of relationships, no matter what their context, and half nauseous due to the fact that he may begin to understand now the curious looks he was always receiving from Val.  "Yeah."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…The end is only the beginning.


End file.
